


The Boys of Summer

by dapatty, s0ckpupp3t



Series: Oversexed!AU [5]
Category: Bandom, Black Cards, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing, Double Penetration, M/M, Multi, Oral Fixation, Polyamory, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0ckpupp3t/pseuds/s0ckpupp3t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The four core members of MCR (and their wives) are in open relationships with each other, but lately Ray has been playing a lot of music with James Dewees offstage.  Frank and Christa are encouraging, but Gerard has some reservations.  Meanwhile, Pete and Brendon pay a surprise visit to Mikey and Frank.  All problems can be solved with <strike>sex</strike> adult rational discussion <strike>without pants</strike>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boys of Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://dear-monday.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**dear_monday**](http://dear-monday.dreamwidth.org/) for the beta and putting up with us and being amazing and charming and delightful as well as **[Bad username or unknown identity: shadowrider=livejournal.com]** and [](http://hangemhigh-27.livejournal.com/profile)[**hangemhigh_27**](http://hangemhigh-27.livejournal.com/). This fic wouldn’t have been half as good without you girls! ♥

  


**Title:** The Boys of Summer  
 **Authors:** [](http://s0ckpupp3t.livejournal.com/profile)[**s0ckpupp3t**](http://s0ckpupp3t.livejournal.com/) & [](http://dapatty.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**dapatty**](http://dapatty.dreamwidth.org/)  
 **Artist:** [](http://wilde-stallyn.livejournal.com/profile)[**wilde_stallyn**](http://wilde-stallyn.livejournal.com/)  
 **Bandom:** MCR with guest appearances by Pete Wentz and Brendon Urie  
 **Characters/Pairings:** MCR GSF: Frank/Mikey, Ray/Christa, Ray/Frank, Ray/Gerard, Frank/Brendon, Mikey/Pete, Frank/Mikey/Gerard, Ray/James + mentioned /wives  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings/Enticements:** incest, bondage, blindfold, rimming, crossdressing, threesome, double penetration  
 **Summary:** The four core members of MCR (and their wives) are in open relationships with each other, but lately Ray has been playing a lot of music with James Dewees offstage. Frank and Christa are encouraging, but Gerard has some reservations. Meanwhile, Pete and Brendon pay a surprise visit to Mikey and Frank. All problems can be solved with ~~sex~~ adult rational discussion ~~without pants~~.  
 **Disclaimer:** The authors are unaffiliated with people in this story and none of this happened; it’d just be really hot if it had.  
 **Authors’ Notes:** Thanks to [](http://dear-monday.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**dear_monday**](http://dear-monday.dreamwidth.org/) for the beta and putting up with us and being amazing and charming and delightful as well as **[Bad username or unknown identity: shadowrider=livejournal.com]** and [](http://hangemhigh-27.livejournal.com/profile)[**hangemhigh_27**](http://hangemhigh-27.livejournal.com/). This fic wouldn’t have been half as good without you girls! ♥

See the ultra-shiny magnificent art and mix [HERE](http://wilde-stallyn.livejournal.com/49411.html#cutid1) and give [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=wilde_stalyn)[**wilde_stalyn**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=wilde_stalyn) ALL THE LOVE for being so awesome. It's seriously a fantastic mix. Ya'll should check it out.

 

The thing about being tied together as a band for ten years was that not only were they really on musically, they were also a family. And since they were in each other’s pockets day in and day out, especially on tour, ending up wrapped in each other was really the only way they would have wanted it to go (even if it took nearly that long to make it official). Frank had always known it was only a matter of time, though, from his first kiss with Gerard to when they first asked him to be in the band to the first orgy in London -- and the way Gerard, Ray, and Mikey had surrounded him, taken him apart, and put him back together. It had been like coming home. There was just as much love with his boys as when he was back in Jersey with Jamia and his two little girls.

The tour had been good, even after the whole Pedicone thing. And Frank was not getting mad about that anymore, no way, even though this wasn’t the first time they’d had a problem with a drummer. Not when Jarrod was working out musically and what with how he didn’t seem to be a Scooby Doo villain. No one stole Ray’s underwear again, even though Frank insisted it was a good idea. But Dewees was right -- they’d have to gather more lacy undergarment replacements. Because if one was going to steal someone else’s underwear, one should just steal it all and leave something in its place. There were rules.

Besides, Dewees had been busy, as far as Frank could determine. Busy having music sex. With Ray. Yeah, Frank had noticed. Ray hadn’t noticed that was what they were doing yet, because, well, he was adorably clueless like that.

Frank remembered how long it took Ray to get _Gerard’s_ hints. Gerard was about as subtle as fourth-grader, and it still took Ray a whole European leg to get it. Ray would figure it out with James eventually, Frank was pretty sure. That, or Christa would have to help him out, because Frank just didn’t have time for that shit. He was hoping to collect some betting pool winnings on the second half of this tour. Or maybe to get Gerard and Mikey in the same room again, because that shit would never get old.

What he wouldn’t be doing was planning another orgy. That shit was stressful. The next orgy was totally Mikey’s to plan, and besides, this tour had precious few hotel nights to begin with. It was hard to plan involved kinky sex without adequate hotel nights. But two orgies weren’t bad for a whole touring cycle, in Frank’s book. Not that he was keeping track -- but he totally would be, now that he’d finally gotten them all in bed at once.

No, all their wives were, in the form of a betting pool. Of course that somehow meant that Pete Wentz was too, but really, there were worse things. Far worse. Besides, Wentz was a perfectly good lay. Not that Frank had any firsthand experience, surprisingly, but he could always ask Mikey. Mikey would at least say something in eyebrow about it.

Speaking of Mikey, it was probably time for Frank to go find him. There were always shenanigans to be pulled, possibly involving nudity. Frank needed some shenanigans. He didn’t know exactly what his deal was, but he’d been restless lately. And bus call was soon, for another show in another city. Not that he minded this tour right now, but it was work, and Frank was still trying to figure out how to clone himself. He ruffled his hair and massaged his forehead, trying to figure out if he was tired, or hungry, or what. This was the part of the tour when he started wondering how he could do it. It was like flying to Neverland. If he started thinking about how impossible it all was, he’d never make it there. He bit a thumbnail, worrying away at it with his teeth.

Two hands grabbed him around his waist and maneuvered him over to the nearest wall.

“What?” he gasped, shoulders hitting brick while he tried to figure out who was manhandling him. “Mikey?”

“You are the twitchiest little fucker,” Mikey said, eyebrow cocked disapprovingly to mask the concern underneath.

“Maybe,” Frank said.

“Are the girls okay? Cherry? Lilly?” Mikey asked.

“Yeah, they’re okay,” Frank answered. “Maybe I should call again to be sure? Is the Force telling you something?”

Mikey’s shoulders relaxed a little. “They’re probably still fine,” he said, smiling crookedly.

“Yeah,” Frank nodded, feeling the scratch of brick on his neck.

“Yeah,” Mikey quirked an eyebrow and reached for Frank’s belt.

“What?” Frank squawked. “Here?”

“I am not getting any more come on my sheets this tour, and your bunk smells funny,” Mikey said simply.

“My bunk does not smell funny,” Frank protested.

“It smells too clean,” Mikey shrugged.

Frank rolled his eyes and giggled. “Too clean!” Unbelievable.

Frank was reminded of an afternoon, years ago, when Gerard had fussed at him for washing his sheets too often. “I _like_ the way you smell,” Gerard had complained, “and as soon as things start to smell like you, you wash it all away so I can’t smell you anymore.” Poor, long-suffering Ways.

“Shut up,” Mikey licked the side of Frank’s neck and bit down, sucking on the skin.

Frank made a fascinating groan, squeak noise that he couldn’t help. “Shit.” He swallowed, and Mikey chose that moment to reach his hand into Frank’s boxers and wrap his long fingers around Frank’s already half-hard cock. “Oh fuck, Mikeyway. That’s cheating.”

Mikey hummed against Frank’s neck and Frank shivered as Mikey twisted his fingers, swiping his thumb over the head of Frank’s cock.

Frank gasped, hips jerking forward, his hands wrapping around Mikey’s biceps, grasping for purchase, as Mikey gave Frank’s neck one final lick.

“Yeah?” Mikey asked. He could have been asking any number of things. Frank wasn’t completely sure. He thought his brain might be leaking out of his ears, and the way Mikey looked wasn’t helping. Lips wet, hair over one eye and heat suffusing his gaze.

“Yeah,” answered Frank encouragingly as Mikey started jacking him off, hard and fast, making Frank pant.

“Yes, that,” Frank needlessly clarified and Mikey kissed him, tongue teasing Frank’s bottom lip and sliding in, fucking Frank’s mouth.

Frank came with a muffled gasp and slumped against the wall, breaking the kiss.

“Better?” Mikey quirked an eyebrow again and then licked the come from his hand.

Frank moaned, “Yes, except for you trying to kill me with hotness. Kiss me again so I can taste.”

Mikey smirked and obliged while tucking Frank neatly back into his pants.

“Okay,” Frank said, standing and dragging Mikey toward the bus. “We’ll snuggle in your bunk and I’ll swallow.”

“No,” Mikey said and Frank stopped walking and looked at Mikey, concerned.

“Why not?” Frank asked.

“We’re gonna snuggle in your bunk,” Mikey answered. “It’s still too clean.”

“Oh, okay!” Frank beamed and went back to dragging Mikey to the surprised cackling of Dewees, who probably saw that whole handjob thing. Frank wouldn’t put it past him. The guy was inexplicable, oddly stealthy, and a bit of a mad scientist. Ray really needed to get his act together and boink his brains out.

*********

 

****

Sometimes You Have to Listen to Those Smarter Than You

After sound check, Gerard had to go get changed, Frank wanted to check in with the girls, and Mikey just disappeared somewhere. Ray went back to the bus to pick up a cleaner shirt and maybe try out a new riff he was thinking about. He waved at Dewees on his way to the back, picked up a guitar, and started trying out the line. It didn’t sound quite right, so he let his fingers wander over favorite songs, video game themes, half-snatches of barely remembered tunes, sewn together with things he made up out of thin air. It was only about four minutes of what probably sounded like channel-surfing before he settled on a progression, something comfortable to expand upon. It sounded a little harmonic minor but probably wasn’t, and he didn’t worry about it, just closed his eyes and felt his fingers travel over the fretboard.

Somewhere around there he’d heard a thump, had written it off as one of the guys picking something up and slamming around the bus as usual. What he didn’t expect was a melody to join his, pinning it up from underneath one moment, soaring above it the next. He opened his eyes on James, looking quietly happy, playing the shitty little 61-key they kept in the studio. He paused for half a second before the next note, looked up and smiled. James smiled back, and they kept going, climbing up the scale before he did _something_ on the keyboard, swinging them effortlessly into a tempo change. It turned something that might have sounded depressing (if you weren’t playing it) into a driving, almost peppy piece, something sort of morbidly moshable.

It was perfect, and they wound up losing a full twenty minutes trading licks before remembering that they needed to eat and get dressed.

Dinner was decent, and the show was pretty awesome. Ray loved playing for fans, but there was an energy to summer crowds, too, people who maybe hadn’t come for MCR but were determined to have a good time, and the way you could feel them warming to the band, the way you knew they’d pick up a CD on their way out, or hit iTunes when they got home, or tell a friend. It was different, but it was good. And it made the band different. They could all feel it, and it made them shine, made them play off each other. Sometimes, it made them fight for it. Always, they won.

Eventually, the night was drawing to a close, and he could go call Christa. It was always so good to hear her voice, even it was just her voicemail, but she picked up, said hello, asked him how his day was.

“Nothing really interesting. Ate like four bowls of Lucky Charms for brunch. Oooh, but I got a nap!” He interrupted himself excitedly.

“All this glamour and hedonism, I don’t know how you stand the rockstar life.” He could hear her smile, almost taste it.

“Wound up jamming with James after sound check.” Ray had meant to go on and talk about dinner, and how the show went, but he stopped there for some reason.

“Been jamming with James a lot lately.” Christa said it with the kind of lightness that meant she was being overly careful with her words.

“What’s that mean?” He didn’t sound defensive or anything. Not very, anyway.

“Nothing - it’s been good, right?” If Ray didn’t know better, he’d have thought she sounded concerned.

“Shit, yes, it’s been good. You know how it is, when you’re doing improv, and it’s like you’re in each other’s heads, and sometimes he’ll come out of nowhere with this, this _line_ , and...” Ray abruptly realized he was rambling. “And it’s good, yeah.”

“Thought so. You know I’d be okay with you going there, right?”

“Um...” Ray felt his face heat up a little. “I don’t know if anything’s heading in that direction.”

“I’m not saying it’s going to! Or you’re going to, or he’s going to, or whatever. Just...” She took a breath, laughing a little, “I’m okay with it if you do. He’s with the band. You like him. You like playing with him so much that even when you’re touring you’ve been finding time to jam every week. I don’t know him as well as the other guys, but I like him, and I like people who make you happy.”

“Oh. I mean, good? But I wasn’t...! I hadn’t thought of it!” It was hard to communicate the churning feeling in his stomach to himself, let alone to Christa over the phone, miles and miles away.

“Uh-huh,” she said flatly. Then she changed tactics. “Good music is like sex, isn’t it?”

“God, yes,” he agreed fervently, happy to be back on a subject he could navigate with ease.

His darling wife, of course, promptly turned that right on its head by saying, “And you and James have been having music sex for months, and lately you’ve even been doing it offstage, and all I’m saying is you should feel free to explore having sex-sex with him too, if you want.” She sounded incredibly reasonable. _All of it_ sounded incredibly reasonable.

“Shit.” The churning in Ray’s stomach blossomed into an ache of anxiety and anticipation. “Aw, shit.”

“Uh-huh.” There was a lot more approval in her voice this time.

“You think I’ve been leading him on? Has the rest of the band noticed? Should I stop? Should I apologize? What do you say? Should I give him flowers? Fuck.”

“Ray.” She was gently chiding, oceans of calmness and patience.

“Sorry. Things are already so complicated, and I wasn’t paying attention, and what if I screw everything up?” It wasn’t a question, really. Ray was pretty sure he was going to.

“So what if you do? We’re solid, you and me. ‘Til the wheels fall off. Same with you and the guys. You’re allowed to screw everything up every once in a while. We’ve all done it, we’ll all do it again. I’m not saying anybody’s noticed, I don’t think you have to reinvent the wheel, and things are complicated but they’re awesome. Also, flowers? Not necessary, but James would probably make an amazingly interesting face if you sent him some.” Ray could practically see Christa counting off each point on her fingers.

“Who ARE you, and how the fuck did I find someone this reasonable to marry?” Ray cracked up, giving in to the grin that had been building during her brief speech.

“I’m not that reasonable,” she cautioned, laughing back. And just like that, everything was right with the world, and he knew exactly what to say next.

“Uh-uh, if Jamia wants pictures she’s just going to have to get them for herself. None of this ‘pics or it didn’t happen’ shit.”

“Who said it’s Jamia who wants pics?” she asked coyly.

“I’ll see what happens,” he said, snickering. “Gotta go. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Ray hung up and looked at his phone, pushed his hair back, looked at the ceiling. His life was just a progression from weird to awesome to weirder to awesomer.

After he got back on the bus, he slept better than he thought he would. This was serious territory, the kind he’d never found himself in before. When it came to partners, well. With Christa, things had just fallen together. With the guys in the band, he’d just sort of found himself quietly interested, then happily surprised to have a tongue down his throat (Frank) or a hand stuck down his pants (Mikey). Gerard had been... a little different, but Gerard was always a little different. This was the first time Ray had ever really needed to pursue someone, let alone realized (or, okay, been made to realize) that he was already mid-pursuit. He drifted off in his bunk, head full of happy memories and what-ifs.

The next day, he was a little afraid the conversation with Christa would make him act weird. Maybe he’d need to come up with random shit to do to avoid James so Ray wouldn’t be creepy at him. Maybe he was just going to exude some sort of weird Ulterior Motives for Improvising vibe now, and there was nothing he could do about it. Maybe Dewees was exuding Ulterior Motives vibes and Ray just hadn’t noticed.

But after about five minutes of vague fretting over coffee, the day took over, and he realized there wasn’t time to be creepy, or find random shit to do, or make his Sense Motive rolls. They were on _tour_ , playing shows, doing press, meeting fans... it just kept going, and Ray went with it.

Before he knew it, a couple of days had passed and he and James were waiting for setup, and somehow James managed to snag his keyboard from a tech and they were jamming again. It was a little ridiculous, Ray plugged into some random Pignose, James using his keyboard’s onboard speakers, but it passed the time, and nobody seemed to mind. Ray couldn’t put a name to what they played this time, but it started out tentative and went somewhere through gritty-angry blues into this dissonantly filthy rhythmic vamp, and when it ended, they were laughing, the stage was ready, and the rest of the guys had materialized, Frank smiling, Gerard scribbling feverishly in his sketchbook while Mikey looked over his shoulder approvingly.

Ray and James laughed again, fistbumped, and got their gear onstage. Inwardly, Ray crowed. That hadn’t been awkward _or_ creepy! Sound check was easy, the gig was pretty great. Ray was really pleased by how well Jarrod was working out, and all of them seemed to be flowing, shredding, fierce grins lighting up the stage. Gerard wound up on his knees holding the mic in both hands more than once, Mikey strutted, Frank was crazy and sweat-covered and distracting as all hell, and James... Ray was really starting to get used to James onstage, the thread of keyboard connecting their songs into a cohesive whole, the way he worked around Ray and Frank melodically, supported Gerard’s vocals, did rhythmic counterpoints to Mikey’s bass. And every once in a while, when Ray wasn’t wrapped up in the song or the crowd or the ebb and flow or whatever crazy-hot thing one of his bandmates was doing to a microphone, he got to notice James throwing in some blisteringly gorgeous passages. Ray just played, and played, and sang, and let himself drift on it all.

And if that night he found himself shoved up against a wall with Frank’s hard-on pressing into his thigh, well. He could handle that, too. It was a short stay before a long drive, and he’d figured on only seven hours of sleep. But with clever fingers sliding up under his shirt and the heat in Frank’s eyes, Ray decided five hours would be plenty.

“I’m about to say something that I think will make you happy,” Ray mused, looking down at Frank.

“‘Time to get naked’?” Frank said hopefully, with a grin.

“In a manner of speaking. I want a fucking shower, and I think I have a walk-in,” Ray grinned back.

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Frank agreed fervently, and began to scramble about. In the two minutes it took for Ray to find his bag and throw his clothes on the floor, Frank had started the hotel’s shower, gotten naked, stocked it with soap and lube, and gotten in, beaming as he let the water pound his skin. Ray walked in after him, shoving him out of the spray.

“Such a fucking water sign, I swear,” he said affectionately.

“Sez the Cancer to the Scorpio.” Frank hip-checked Ray closer to the wall, and started covering the both of them with soap, something bright and citrusy.

Ray sniffed. “Hey, this isn’t the honey stuff.”

Frank’s eyebrows waggled. “I haff manny kindts off soap.”

Ray threw a washcloth at his face. “Ve haff veys of making you tolk?”

“ _Ja, exactement_!” Frank giggled, picking the washcloth up off his forehead and soaking it in soapy goo.

“That’s German and French, weirdo.”

“You understood them, didn’t you?” Frank retorted.

Ray was going to think of something clever to say back, but Frank was behind him and scrubbing his shoulders, lifting his hair to soap up his neck, washing off the sweat of the show. Ray closed his eyes and let somebody else take care of him. _For once_ , he could hear his wife say.

He reached for the shampoo and lathered his hair while Frank did the rest of him, lingering distractingly on all of his favorite spots. The oversized shower cabinet was nicely steam-filled now, and Ray turned around as he smoothed conditioner over the ends of his hair, looking at Frank.

“What is that?”

“This is what happens when you take out your contacts, Toro. It’s a loofah.” Frank shrugged.

“You don’t own a loofah.” Ray was pretty sure.

“I do now!” Frank grinned. “I’m taking this one from the hotel.”

“Hotels have loofahs now?”

“And those mesh things! I’m the only guy in the band who pays attention to this shit, aren’t I.” Frank’s shoulders slumped. It was adorable.

Ray took the loofah from him, drizzled it with soap, and turned Frankie around to face the wall, scrubbing his lower back until he purred, then made whisking strokes up to his shoulders and down his ass and thighs.

“Shit, why don’t I room with you all the time?” Frank leaned into Ray’s scrubbing, eyes closed in pleasure.

Ray put down the loofah and leaned up against Frank. “Because I suck at Mariokart?”

Frank gasped, rubbing his ass against Ray. “It’s your devotion to Yoshi I find disturbing.”

Ray picked up the lube. “Says the guy who’s always Mario.” It was warm from the shower, so he just poured it down Frank’s crack, grinning when he gasped. Whoops. Maybe it was still a little bit cold, but there was plenty of it, and they didn’t have to worry about being messy.

“You got something against short Italian brunettes, you oughta tell me now. Shit.” Frank arched his back, pressing up against Ray, smearing the lube over his cock.

“So long as you don’t grow the moustache again, we’re good,” Ray murmured, getting a hand on his cock and angling the head against Frank’s asshole, nudging gently to make him groan. He was going to pull back, get some more lube on his fingers, but Frank interrupted him.

“Don’t stop.” He’d pressed his cheek against the tile, and his mouth was open, lips a distracting red against all that soothing beige.

The words made Ray’s stomach flipflop. “Spread?”

Frank made a needy noise and reached back with both hands, his forehead against the tile now, pulling his cheeks apart. Ray groaned at the sight, lining up and nudging again, again, rubbing the head of his dick against Frank’s asshole until he arched his back harder and said, “Goddamnit,” in exasperation. Ray pressed in, then, his cock sliding into perfect warmth, tight and familiar and so _Frank_ it made his jaw ache. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, yeah,” Frank whispered, still holding himself open. Ray got a hand on Frank’s hip and kept pushing in, agonizingly slowly. “Ray,” Frank growled, turning his head to get a glimpse over his shoulder. Ray leaned in for a messy kiss, bracing his hands against the tile, and screwed him a little deeper, opening him up with little jerks of his hips to make Frank gasp and writhe and finally put his hands next to Ray’s and lean back into it.

Finally, it seemed like Ray could move, and he did, moaning when Frank cursed and scrabbled at the tile with his fingers, trying to get better purchase so he could thrust back, but Ray just planted his feet and fucked him into the wall.

“Ohmygod,” Frank panted, his palm slapping against the wet tiles, bracing himself. “Ray, _yes_ ,” he hissed through gritted teeth, and Ray just plowed into him, again and again.

“Fucking love the way you take it,” Ray managed, licking beads of water off Frank’s neck.

Frank reached down to jerk himself off, pressing his cheek against his other hand, milking Ray in time with his strokes. “Don’t stop,” he said again, desperate and almost threatening, and so Ray didn’t, didn’t stop, didn’t think, just lost himself in Frank’s ass and the little noises that bounced off the walls of the shower, until his thighs burned and the soles of his feet itched with how close he was. Frank got louder, and Ray felt tight all over, and finally slammed into him good, once and twice before he pinned Frank there, both of them groaning in satisfaction, Frank clenching around Ray’s cock weakly in aftershocks.

Ray leaned against Frank and the wall, slipping out a little while he waited for the pleasant fuzz to clear from his mind enough to consider rinsing off and lying down. Frank laughed, and Ray kissed the back of his head lazily. Frank turned around, fumbling for the soap again, and wiggled until they were in the spray, washing them down again, but lazier this time. Ray opened the glass door to a completely fogged-over bathroom mirror, and handed Frank a towel. Ray wrapped his around his waist and started brushing his teeth.

Frank dug around in his bag, pulling out his own toothbrush, and stole Ray’s toothpaste. He always did.

Ray spat, rinsed his brush, started drying his hair.

“Sr, whrnr oo rn eeemes grr scroo?” Frank said around his toothbrush.

“When are...? Aw, Jesus, we’re not screwing.” Ray shook his head, finally deciphering Frank’s toothpaste-speak.

Frank spat. “But you’re gonna, right?”

Ray flipped his hair up in the towel and squeezed. “I don’t even know.” Frank hung up his towel, went to go untuck all the sheets on the hotel bed like he always did, and Ray followed him. “Christa said if I sent him flowers he’d probably make a great face, but beyond that I have no. Goddamn. Clue.”

“Dude. It’ll be okay. I have faith in-- okay, I have faith in your cock,” Frank laughed, and Ray covered his eyes, mortified, but joined in. “Also, James is not some kind of fainting wallflower who needs his hand held. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” He coughed. “Gerard.” Cough. Frank laughed some more, but Ray groaned.

“Aw, Jesus _wept_.” Frank looked over. “Gerard,” Ray explained. “What’s he gonna think?”

Frank was still grinning. “Gee?”

“Yeah.” Ray waved his hand, like, _have you been paying any attention here_ , then sighed.

“Ray.” He looked up, to Frank’s earnest expression and four fingers held in front of his nose. “Ray, Gerard is one man fucking four guitarists, only one of whom is his wife, all of whom are fucking other people. You and James haven’t even talked about doing anything yet. He’s not going to throw a fit or throw you out of the fucking band. Just, y’know, keep him in the loop.” Ray looked at Frank, wondering how all the people in his life started sounding so goddamn reasonable all of a sudden, and who had kidnapped Frankie and put an alien relationship counselor in his place, when Frank continued, “Then use the loop to tie him down and fuck the shit out of him so he knows you still want his ass. That shit works like a charm.”

Somehow, Ray was completely reassured.

 

*****

  
**How to Unpunch Someone Conversationally**   


Gerard could admit that he felt a little out of sorts. Mikey would call it a disturbance in the Force. But really, Gerard was having trouble putting it into words. Like, he’d noticed that something was going on with Dewees and Ray, if all the jamming was anything to take into account. So, he did what he always liked to do when he wanted to think or just be idle.

Gerard went out for a smoke break. The venue had an alley, quiet and out of view. The street noise was soothing. He lit up, leaned against the bricks, texted Lyns hi. The door squeaked open and Ray walked out, smiling when he saw Gerard.

“Hey.”

Gerard grinned back.

“Everything looks good.” Ray leaned against the bricks near him, pulled out his phone, thumbed through some texts. It was a companionable silence. Comfortable, easy. Gerard was gonna fuck it up. They had a hotel night tonight, a long one. Gerard and Ray were rooming together, and for some reason, Gerard wanted to do this first. Clear the air, or something.

“So...” he trailed off awkwardly.

“So?” Ray put his phone in his pocket, looking expectant.

“What’s going on with you and Dewees, anyway?” He finally managed. Gerard was proud of how he sounded. Light, but not uncaring, and he didn’t throw up at all, not even a little bit, despite the heavy churning in the pit of his stomach.

Ray looked guilty, and Gerard catapulted straight from faintly icky to a cold-sweat-gonna-barf feeling in no time at all. Oh, god. Ray looked guilty. Ray _never_ looked guilty. They were fucking, and they didn’t tell him. Oh god. Why couldn’t they trust him? Because of the way he might freak out. Like he was doing _right the fuck now_. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god. A line of horrible thoughts began to shoot through Gerard’s brain. He wasn’t good enough. Everyone knew he’d freak out. Flashes of Ray and James fucking, then laughing at Gerard afterward. Some tiny part of his brain shouted that all of this was ridiculous, but it was an awfully small part, and got stampeded over by cold horrible certainty.

Ray’s expression dialed back to confused and he said, “I don’t know!” His voice squeaked a little, and Gerard felt better for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. Ray went on. “We’ve been jamming, right, and I think maybe it’s going somewhere but I don’t _know_ , okay, and then Christa calls the other day and was all encouraging and I wanted to talk to you and Frank said things would be cool but I didn’t even know where to start except ‘hey I think maybe James and I have been playing sex music’ and that sounds incredibly lame out loud.”

“You...” Gerard swallowed. He felt like he’d just been punched a couple of times, in the face and the gut, and then abruptly un-punched somehow. He braced his ass on the brick and put his head between his knees, which actually helped a little. Ray’s hand, comfortingly large and warm, splayed over Gerard’s back.

“Whoa, Gee, you okay? The fuck?”

Gerard laughed a little, and stopped before it got all hysterical. “Yeah. I just thought, for a second there, that you were fucking and hadn’t told me.” The hand pulled away from his back. Gerard felt cold without it.

“What the hell, man?” Ray’s voice was dangerously quiet.

Gerard took a second to realize that he’d just admitted to almost accusing his lead guitarist of having an affair with his keyboardist, like they were in some sort of incredibly twisted daytime television-soap-opera-band... thing. Fuck. Gerard was a moron. He lifted his head and tried to look apologetic, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. “Shit, I’m sorry. I knew something had to be going on, and I didn’t know what, and I felt fucking stupid for not knowing.”

Ray raised an eyebrow at him. “As if I wouldn’t fucking tell you? As if you wouldn’t _know_?” He put his hand back, and a tiny quirk crossed his lips. “You were jealous.”

Gerard moved a little closer, so that Ray warmed up his whole side, too. “Maybe,” he allowed, a trace of humor returning to his voice.

“I can’t wait to tell Christa.” Ray laughed, throwing his arm around Gerard. “The great Gerard Way, jealous of my musical affections.”

Gerard suddenly wanted to explain more, wanted to seem at least slightly rational in the way that he was acting like a stupid dick. “Look, I’ve known where I stand with Mikey and Frank for a really long time, and you. And it’s kinda fucking freaky, okay, and...” Gerard let out a plume of smoke, looked at Ray apologetically again, because he knew this was going to sound like a low blow. “And I’ve been afraid that maybe I’m not a good judge of things. People.” He qualified. Pedicone. He didn’t say it.

“Fuck you, no.” Ray said, then softened. “You know exactly where you stand with me, the same place you’ve always stood for ten years, and if you’re a bad judge of things, we’re all a bad judge of things. People. Whatever.” He didn’t say it either.

Gerard leaned against him, took a long drag, blew it out. “Okay.”

Ray ruffled a hand through Gerard’s hair. “Okay what?”

Gerard looked up. “Okay, you’re right, I shouldn’t doubt you, or me, or our... collective judgment. And okay, I think you should talk to James. You’ll.” He stopped. “You’ll tell me, though, right?”

“Tell you when we talk? Tell you what happens? Yeah.”

Gerard nodded instead of saying, ‘Actually I meant I hope you’ll tell me if you’re not interested in me anymore and want to leave the band because it sucks and I’m having some random pathetic crisis of self-esteem.’ Ray gave him an eyebrow-and-stern-gaze combo worthy of Mikey, and Gerard felt the tightness across his own forehead ease.

“You know, this doesn’t have to be a, a thing. It’s all proto-... Pre-...” Ray shook his head, hair falling in his face, pushed it back, tried something different. “I have the best job and the best friends in the world. I don’t wanna mess with that.”

Gerard snorted, then laughed, stubbing out his cigarette, suddenly feeling a lot clearer. “You’re not gonna mess up anything. And if you do, we’ll fucking fix it, the same we have any time anybody’s messed up, including me.”

Ray fixed him with a weird look. “You sounded just like my wife there.”

Gerard shrugged, grinning. “I think you just attract smart people. With excellent taste.”

Ray huffed a laugh. “Sounds right.”

As if on cue, the metal door banged open and Dewees looked into the alleyway. “Holy shit, it’s the other half of my band, and they’re _not_ making out.”

“I guess we know what Frank and Mikey are up to,” Gerard said dryly.

“Not that I’d blame you,” Dewees added, and it wasn’t until he continued his sentence before Gerard actually took his meaning. “Italian or Indian for dinner?”

“Indian,” Ray piped up.

“We can get Frank and Mikey takeout,” Gerard agreed, pulling out his phone. “Is it far?”

“It’s right there. Like, if we went back in the building it would take longer to get to the front door of the venue.”

“Awesome.” Gerard followed Ray and James, texting Mikey. _if u 2 want anything other than palak paneer n veg biryani let me know._ It was a testament to his lifestyle that not only did Gerard know all of his bandmates’ standing orders at any given restaurant, but his phone also knew how to spell them.

The restaurant was possibly Gerard’s favorite this tour. Everything smelled great, tasted perfect, there were only four tables in the place and the other three were empty. Best of all, they had hot chai on a self-serve tap. Gerard must have had five mugs of it.

Mostly, they just ate, not talking about anything in particular. Press, schedule, the versatility of mushrooms.

“...not to mention their role in the Mario universe,” Ray cut in.

“You mean the --” Gerard started, then finished in unison with James, “Mushroom Kingdom.”

Ray cracked up. “I sit corrected.”

Their waiter brought over a bag with three styrofoam boxes just as Gerard’s pocket buzzed with a text from Mikey. _sounds good, thx_.

“Perfect timing,” he said with satisfaction. “I think that’s the all-clear.”

“Awesome,” Ray affirmed, and picked up the bag.

Dewees took it from him. “I’ll do the delivery.”

“Thanks. Hey, you know, I was wondering...” Gerard trailed off. He was thinking about the way he and Frank jammed sometimes, the unwritten rule they had that anything that came out of it was more of a private thing. It wasn’t hard-and-fast, and more than one MCR song had gotten its start in those sessions over the years, but the seeming privacy and safety of it gave them room to think, and be.

James looked back as they headed out the door, waving to the restaurant staff. “Yeah?”

“When you guys were jamming the other day, I wrote some stuff. Lyrics. To it, maybe. That cool?” Gerard bit his lip, but relaxed when Ray’s face lit up. They walked the fifteen whole steps back to the back door of the venue.

“Well, yeah,” Dewees said, only making it sound a little bit like Gerard was a moron for asking. “And you know, you can sit in, or just sit or write or whatever, anytime. Anybody can.”

Gerard nodded at both of them, heading inside. “We jam less when we tour, but I think we should do it more often. Or try.” He grinned wryly. “Even if I’m not much of an instrumentalist.”

Ray split off to pick up his bag, and James looked at Gerard for a moment, then laughed.

“What?” He grinned back, waiting for the joke.

“The whole voice-is-an-instrument thing aside, you know you _are_ one, right? James raised an eyebrow, knocking on the door of the room Frank and Mikey had appropriated. Gerard was still grinning, if a little more bemused. James gave a low, filthy chuckle. “An instrument. One of Ray’s favorites.” And with that, he ducked into the room, handing out styrofoam boxes and plasticware.

Gerard just stood in the hallway for a second, blushing as a few facts made themselves clear in his mind: It was a hotel night. He and Ray were rooming together. They’d already had dinner. Everything was done at the venue. Dewees was seeing to Frank and Mikey. Who had already had some... quality time.

Right. He stepped in their green room, picked up his jacket, caught a wink (no shit, an actual _wink_ ) from Frank, and stepped back out the door.

“Gee,” Ray called from backstage. Gerard followed. “Cab’s waiting,” Ray said offhandedly. Gerard blinked, followed, got in. Ray gave the name of their hotel, and Gerard raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?” Ray asked.

“I’m just trying to figure out how much I’ve been objectified and manipulated in the last five minutes, and whether or not I like it.” Gerard tried to sound huffy, but he honestly wasn’t sure, on either count.

To his surprise, Ray just nodded. “You like it,” like he was talking about the weather or something.

Gerard raised both his eyebrows, and waited.

“You wouldn’t have come along if you didn’t. Or you’d be in the middle of a six-point lecture. Either way, you like it, so I’m tying you down and doing unspeakable things to you for hours on end.” He said it lightly, but with a sidelong glance. Gerard shifted in his seat, trying to adjust his pants, which suddenly didn’t fit right at all. He swallowed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

*****

 

****

Sometimes Home is Hug a Thousand Miles From Home

 

Mikey ended up in a van with Jarrod, Frank, and Dewees, all of whom were arguing about the coolest Transformers on the way back to the hotel. Mikey shot off what he considered to be a helpful text to Gerard and a rather suggestive one to Ray to kill time between traffic lights. He’d managed to exchange a few replies with Alicia when Pete texted him.

 _better half. r u here yet?_ Pete’s text said.

 _define here_ Mikey texted back. For all Mikey knew, Pete could be in a philosophical mood. A mood in which he missed everyone and trolled his nearest and dearest in vague text message form until either Patrick, Mikey, Bebe, Gabe, or Alicia called him.

 _zen dude. @ hotel. have bden 4 iero._ Pete replied.

Mikey blinked at his phone. Pete was waiting for him at the hotel. Pete. Who had brought Brendon Urie with him because of the betting pool. Pete, who was now apparently using the losing bets of others as reason to travel.

 _since when do u need an excuse 2 c me?_ Mikey texted back, smirking to himself, and pocketing his phone.

“Why so smiley, Mikeyway?” Frank asked, draping himself over Mikey’s lap and then promptly snuggling in. “Do you want to give me another blowjob?”

“Actually, no,” Mikey answered.

Frank promptly pouted and declared to Dewees, “James, Mikey’s being mean to me.” James only laughed at him while Jarrod quietly shook his head.

“But I know a certain Brendon Urie who’s waiting for you at the hotel that would be willing,” Mikey explained.

Frank sat up like he’d been shocked. “You’re shitting me. Mikeyway, don’t shit me about this.” His eyes were pleading and disbelieving all at once. Frank had only been pining a lot over the kid. Mikey knew that things had been getting kind of serious between them. Jamia even liked Brendon and Sarah.

“I shit you not,” Mikey fixed Frank with a look, which caused Frank to beam at him and promptly throw his arms around Mikey with a grateful hug.

“Really?!” Frank started bouncing impatiently.

Dewees was laughing and Jarrod looked just this side of politely disinterested as the van pulled up to the hotel. They scrambled out and Frank launched himself at Pete Wentz, grabbing him for a hug and declaring fervently, “You bring me the best presents, Wentzy!”

“Get off me, teacup octopus,” Pete chided, groping Frank a little excessively.

Frank complied reluctantly, then remembered what he was excited about. “Key! Key, key, key, key-key-key-key,” Frank made grabby hands and Pete placed a keycard in Frank’s hand. Frank gave Pete a peck on the cheek, hugged Mikey again, grabbed his bag and made a beeline for the elevator, all to the laughter of everyone else. Frank flipped them off as the elevator doors closed. Dewees and Jarrod grabbed their bags and wandered off, talking about Super Mario 3 and chutney.

Mikey shouldered his backpack and took a moment to just look at Pete. Pete looked tired, a little worn and pinched around the edges, but some of that melted when he smiled at Mikey. Mikey couldn’t help but smile back. That smile was part of the infectious, charming nature of Pete mixed up with this current version that seemed to be wound tightly and a little bruised, even nervous.

“Hi,” Pete said, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket, like the seams were suddenly very interesting.

“Hi,” Mikey said back, smiling. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Pete, squeezing his shoulders.

“Hi,” Pete said, softer and a little relieved, melting into the hug and squeezing back like suddenly something was alright again.

“Idiot,” Mikey chided, hugging a little tighter.

“Well, you know,” Pete explained uselessly, tucking his nose into the crook of Mikey’s neck.

“Yeah,” Mikey nodded, pulling back enough to kiss Pete. Pete was here. Just his presence settled Mikey; it was like realizing he was in a familiar part of town after not recognizing some street names. Pete tilted his head so that they fit perfectly, opening his mouth to let Mikey taste. Mikey caught a hint of spearmint and a sweetness that almost tasted like summer.

“Hi,” Pete said, goofily, pulling back from the kiss.

“So, you got a room, right?” Mikey asked and let Pete drag him toward the elevators.

“Fuck yes, I got a room,” Pete answered. “What sort of idiot do you think I actually am? Okay, don’t answer that. But it was only twice. And we did at least get to sleep in a vehicle both times.”

“Ah, old times,” Mikey giggled as Pete led them out of the elevator and down a hall, then asked, “Seriously... I don’t actually think you’re an idiot, you know?”

“Yeah,” Pete answered, smiling crookedly. “Evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.”

“No, we were young and stupid then,” Mikey said. “And at least able to figure out each others’ hints. You are not a subtle flirt, Wentz. Not in the least.”

“Of course not. I made my intentions toward you _very_ clear, dude. And if by ‘hints’ you are referring to Ray and Dewees?” Pete asked, opening the room door. “I have heard about the music sex all the way back in Cali. _Bebe_ has heard about the music sex. It’s flirting that apparently can be seen from space.”

“Yes,” Mikey confirmed, dropping his backpack on the desk and unlacing his boots. “I love them. But they’re so dumb. Ray especially is dumb at flirting.”

“You mean how he doesn’t even realize that he is flirting and that someone is flirting back at him and then somebody tells him and even his hair looks surprised?” Pete asked, toeing out of his shoes and shucking off his jacket.

“Yes,” Mikey answered, taking off his shirt. “That.”

“How are Ray and Dewees not fucking yet? “ Pete asked, taking off his shirt and unzipping his jeans. “Have they seen each other? I honestly thought that shit was old news. I laughed when Jamia told me there were odds on when those two were finally hooking up. Laughed, Mikeyway. Laughed until I was crying.”

“I know, right?” Mikey asked, needlessly, sliding out of his jeans. “Like, Dewees has the patience of a saint. And far more subtlety than is called for.”

“Seriously,” Pete agreed. “That fucker is amazing. Why is your lead guitarist a moron? A sexy moron,” Pete amended.

“I don’t know. It might have something to do with my brother,” Mikey’s eyebrows furrowed in a frowny sort of way. “Anyway, sometimes you just have to take off somebody’s pants before they’ll get the idea.” There was a smile back in his voice as he reached for Pete’s jeans.

“Um. Mikey.” Pete’s voice was hushed. “Fucking. Fucking _shit_.” It was like he’d just realized where he was, like he’d just realized he could have something he wanted. And that was when he crushed Mikey up against the door, all hands and knees and ravenous eyes.

“Pete,” Mikey panted, willing him to get it from just that.

He got a hand on Mikey’s dick, making a soft noise. “Mikey,” Pete murmured, almost a question. He needed to hear it.

Mikey sighed, but it sounded like a gasp. “Pete,” he tsked, grabbed him by the hair, and pushed himself back against the door so he could slam Pete into the wall. He got his lips on Pete’s neck, his teeth into his shoulder like he could emboss his intentions into Pete’s skin, whispering between bites. “Missed you, always fucking miss you when you’re gone, idiot, you should fucking know by now,” and he’d gotten Pete’s clothes off, got his hands around both of them, loosely fisting their cocks together against Pete’s belly, still talking with Pete’s hands on him, hungry, encouraging. “Not going anywhere, want you, always fucking want you.”

Pete clawed down Mikey’s back, got a hand in his hair, pulled him in for a messy kiss. Their teeth bumped and Pete’s head hit the wall and it was perfect. Pete broke away, looking a little wild, panting. “I can’t,” he said, sounding desperate.

“Me neither,” Mikey gasped, and let go with one hand to grab Pete’s nipple, twisting tightly the way he knew Pete liked. “I’ll be here in the morning, c’mon, fucking--” Mikey broke off, let his head fall against Pete’s shoulder, both of them sweating, Mikey’s fingers relentless, the hardness of them pressed together beneath his always-moving hand.

“Mikey--” Pete managed before grabbing him tight and coming hard, his eyes rolling up before they squeezed shut, and Mikey knew he’d done it right. He let go and finished himself off, slick with Pete’s come, and the thought of it, the feeling on his fingers, left him biting Pete’s shoulder as he came, messing them both up and collapsing onto Pete and the wall. Pete made a happy little whimper noise and rubbed his face against Mikey’s shoulder.

“So, that was just as good as I remembered it,” Pete said conversationally even as Mikey smeared come across his belly. “Nice,” he said, starting to wipe it off, then just smiling wryly.

“Idiot,” Mikey said, completely fond and smirking.

“Love you too, sweet little dude,” Pete smiled and kissed Mikey’s cheek.

Mikey turned his head and kissed Pete on the mouth, slow, lazy and warm.

“So,” Pete rested his cheek against Mikey’s, “if we clean up a little, can we like cuddle and shit and do some proper fucking later?”

“Since when do you even have to ask?” Mikey chided.

“Since apparently it’s a side-effect of divorce and hanging out with Brendon Urie,” Pete shrugged.

“Yeah, we’re so snuggling after one of us gets a wash rag,” Mikey agreed.

“Not it,” Pete tagged Mikey’s side.

“Why am I only attracted to nine-year-olds?” Mikey asked.

“You’re on top of me,” Pete reasoned.

“You say that a lot too,” Mikey smirked.

“Well yeah, I like you there,” Pete agreed, smiling back.

Later, maybe even tomorrow morning, they’d get to that whole topping business, but first Mikey would hold Pete until he remembered he was important and valued. That was, if Mikey could make his legs work. Apparently a really good orgasm after a pretty good orgasm an hour earlier was a lot to recover from today.

“Maybe you’re getting old,” Pete suggested.

“Well, since I must have said that out loud,” Mikey frowned.

“It’s not your fault that Iero is really horny,” Pete assured.

“Clearly, it’s Brendon Urie’s,” Mikey agreed.

Pete raised an eyebrow. “Apparently, I’m not the only one who forgets my own worth,” Pete kissed his cheek and backed Mikey toward the bed.

*****

****

It’s Like Playing Your Favorite Song In the Key of OMFG

Ray was surprised at how easily the evening had come together. Honestly, there hadn’t been a lot of pre-planning in his mind, but the restaurant had been right there and then the venue manager had offered to call him a cab and there was one only a block away. They’d already handed out hotel keys this afternoon. Suddenly, everything was go.

But if it made Gee think he was some kind of smooth manipulative bastard, well, he was totally fine with taking the credit.

It was bizarre, how strong it made him feel, how proud, knowing that he could just walk and Gerard would follow him. Maybe it was all in Ray’s head, but it felt different now than it had a year ago. He thought he could feel Gerard’s eyes on his shoulders, the back of his neck, his feet. It made him walk tall, open doors with a grace he didn’t ordinarily possess, feel a low tingle of anticipation in his chest.

He opened the hotel room door, walked inside and held it open with his foot for Gerard, who was right on his heels and chewing his lip so hard it was red and swollen. Ray tossed his bag on the floor, toed off his shoes, watched Gerard doing more or less the same. Checked his phone.

“Oh. My god.” He scrolled down a bit and sat down on the bed.

“What?” Gee called from the bathroom.

“It’s nothing. You don’t have any text messages, do you?” He tried not to laugh, blush, or curse. He mostly succeeded.

Gerard came back, checked. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He thumbed some more buttons, and warmed to the topic. “I got them _dinner_. Asked them to text if they didn’t want their standing orders, which I remembered, even down to the onion-not-garlic naan. And this is what _we_ get? The fuck?!”

Ray scrolled back up. “I’ve got, ‘Have fun,’ from Christa, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ from James, which really narrows it down, thanks, some, um, encouragement from Frank...”

“Frank says I should remind you not to leave too many marks, James has some guitar-related innuendo, and Lyns says I don’t need to worry about tucking Bandit in this evening. Did you shout it from the rooftops or something?” Gerard looked confused, but only faintly irritated.

“I seriously didn’t! All I knew is we were rooming together.” Ray laughed. “Maybe we just shouldn’t put the three of them in a room with their cellphones when there’s more than five minutes of free time, or something.”

“I think you have a point there,” Gerard scoffed, turning his phone off. “Jesus. It hasn’t been _that_ long since we got laid.”

“With each other? It’s been seventeen days.”

Gee sent him an amused ‘but who’s counting’ look, and Ray grinned sheepishly.

“Well. I guess I have some time to make up for,” Gerard threw some attitude into it, planted his feet, pulled off his shirt, tossed it on the floor with seeming contempt for the garment. He posed, raking both hands over his hair, craning his neck. He was all strong shoulders and soft eyes looking out from under his forearm.

Ray should be immune to this sort of thing by now, should have been over it years ago, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was Gerard, nobody was immune. That was kind of how the whole band got started, nobody could say no. Gerard stepped forward, put a hand on the bed next to Ray’s leg, leaned in. Fuck. Who would _want_ to say no to that? He held Ray’s eyes and sank down, down, and knelt.

He stayed there, looking up, his lips curved into the tiniest smile, and slowly, Ray could feel him letting down his guard. Breath by breath, the electricity Gerard seemed to pump into the air just by raising an eyebrow or cocking a hip diminished, calmed. It was something he could always generate, but it was like he was putting it aside, setting it down, giving Ray his full attention. It was beautiful in a way that made Ray’s chest tight. He swallowed and reached to smooth the hair that Gerard had mussed, and Gerard turned his face into Ray’s hand, nuzzling, somehow suddenly as innocent as he had just been brazen. Ray ran his thumb over Gerard’s brow, let his fingertips trace over temple, nose, cheeks. Gee just leaned into it, soaking it up, eyes sliding closed.

 _I could do this for hours_ , Ray thought, then smiled as he realized he really could. It would be at least four hours before they’d even consider sleep. But he had other plans. He took in a breath, about to speak, and felt a buzzing against his palm.

It was Gerard, humming softly. “Mmmm, so. Unspeakable?”

“Nyeh, probably pretty speakable. I expect you’ll be speaking, anyway.”

“Not gonna gag me?” Gerard’s lips curved up against his hand.

“Fuck.” Ray turned his hand, let his knuckles drag against Gerard’s jaw while he thought about it being held open, what those lips would look like around cloth, a ball, a ring, a bit, a knotted rope. “Gonna next time, now.”

“Yeah?”

Ray might have thought he was being baited if Gerard hadn’t sounded breathless with anticipation. “Yeah. But not this time. Stand up.” Gee put his hand out on the bed again, got up only a little wobbly and stood in the patch of open floor by the bed. Ray stayed sitting down, pulled a bandanna out of his pocket, rolled it wide and flat on the diagonal, making a blindfold.

Then he stood up, holding the folded cloth in his hand. Open, obvious. Gerard looked at it, and Ray heard his breath catch, saw the hitch it made over his ribcage, saw the bulge in his jeans.

“Turn.”

Gerard moved without hesitation. Ray stepped forward, wrapped the bandanna around his eyes, did his best to tie it in the back without catching any hair in it. He checked the fit, made sure it didn’t pull, put his hand on Gerard’s shoulder lightly. “This time? I want to hear you beg. Turn.”

Gerard obeyed, moving a little more cautiously.

Ray let go, stepped back to look. It was just a square of black cotton, the kind with the cowboy paisley print on it. But it cut across Gerard’s face, contrasted sharply with his skin and hair, made him look even more vulnerable standing there shirtless, with his hands open at his sides. He was waiting, blind. Ray stepped forward again, touched his forehead the way he had when Gerard had knelt, but traced lower with his fingertips, lingering on the cords of muscle in his neck, the hollow of his throat, down his chest, all the way to his navel. Gerard shivered, leaned toward Ray’s touch just a fraction of an inch, then kept himself still with a visible effort.

Ray gave him a proud smile, remembered he couldn’t see it. “Good,” he said, and it sounded low and soft. Gerard’s lips twitched. Ray ran the backs of his fingers over the sparse hairs low on Gerard’s belly, over the denim waistband, lower...and to the right, over to his hip.

Gee’s breath wavered, but he didn’t move. Ray hooked a finger of his other hand into one of Gerard’s belt loops, got a good grip, and leaned in until he could feel the heat of that breath, and Gerard tipped up his chin a little, parted his lips, but didn’t move in to close the space. Just signified his willingness for Ray to take whatever he wanted. So Ray brushed his lips across Gerard’s, let a hand slide up from Gerard’s waist to his neck, cupped the back of his head. Ray let their lips brush again, feather-light, and Gerard swallowed, still unmoving. Ray stretched out his fingers, then closed them in a fist, gathering and pulling Gerard’s hair tightly.

Gerard sucked in a gasp, opening his mouth a little wider, and Ray kissed him hard, teeth and tongue. Gerard kissed back, a tiny sound in his throat, and tasted like cinnamon and clove. Ray pulled away, catching Gerard’s lip between his teeth before letting go, and sliding his hand down again. He didn’t move away this time, running his fingers and then the heel of his hand over the bulge in Gerard’s jeans, watching.

Gerard’s right hand gave the barest twitch, but that was all. Ray made a satisfied noise deep in his chest and unbuckled Gerard’s belt, unbuttoned his jeans, walked around behind him, one hand on him the whole time. Ray slung his left arm around Gee’s neck and leant forward over his shoulder, taking his earlobe between his teeth and biting lightly. He drew Gerard in closer, left hand splayed down his chest, right hand snaking down around his waistband, and under. Gerard’s thighs trembled with the effort of not pushing up into Ray’s fingers, and Ray held him there, just like that, breathing hot into his ear, fingertips almost brushing his cock.

“Ray...” Gerard’s voice caught. “Please.”

Ray licked behind his ear. “Not yet,” he murmured, withdrawing his fingers and moving them to the side again, this time to slide Gerard’s jeans and underwear down. He held out his arm, and put Gerard’s hand on it so he’d be steady. “Out of ‘em.” Gee extracted one foot, then the other, stepping forward, leaving his hand on Ray’s arm. _Because that’s where I put him_ , Ray realized, and felt heat, tight and heavy, in the pit of his stomach. It ached, and he stepped forward with Gerard, wrapped an arm around him again, sunk teeth into Gerard’s shoulder and ground up against him. Ray groaned. Any touch, any pressure at all was what he was aching for, but the curve of Gerard’s naked ass grinding back was fucking heaven. Gerard made a noise high in his throat, not quite a whimper, but Ray was going to get him there soon enough.

He pulled Gerard’s arm down, nuzzled against the nape of his neck, let the fingers of one hand wander down to his balls, soft and warm. He palmed them, kneading the flesh gently, and got a grateful moan for his efforts. He curled his fingers down, pressed under Gee’s sac against the root of his cock, rubbed low and slow until Gerard’s thighs were shaking, his back was sweating, and he was _definitely_ whimpering. Ray drew his hands away and up to Gerard’s shoulders, making sure he was steady.

“Stay.”

Gerard stayed.

Ray walked over to his bag, drew out a length of rope, tossed it over his shoulder, and set to work stripping the bed of half its pillows and all but the sheets. He spared a glance at Gerard. He was staying stock-still, and so hard it made Ray’s cock twitch in sympathy. Ray couldn’t look at that and not touch. He left the rope on the bed, moved over in front of Gerard, grabbed him by the hair, and put a thumb over his lips.

“Lick.” Gerard’s tongue swished over the pad of Ray’s thumb over and over until Ray could stand to pull it away, used it to wipe the precome from the head of Gerard’s cock, brought it back to Gerard’s mouth. Gerard licked without being told. Ray couldn’t decide if that was good or not, so he settled for teasing. “Hmm, taste that? You’re leaking.” Gerard’s cheeks flushed red, all the way up to the blindfold.

Ray chuckled low in his throat and moved away again, this time to shoulder up the end of the mattress and finagle the rope under it. It wasn’t a quiet process, exactly, and Ray wondered if Gerard was trying to figure out what was going on. He managed to get the rope strung underneath the mattress about a third of the way up the bed, ends dangling.

“Perfect.” Ray shifted his attention to Gee. “Need to get you a leash.” Gerard blushed again, and damn if it wasn’t pretty. “You look so good with something around your throat. Oh, well. Guess I can just use this one,” Ray mused, and moved over, reaching down to pull on Gerard’s cock and lead him to the bed by it. He gasped at Ray’s firm grip, and followed with small steps until the mattress hit his knees. “I want you on your hands and knees up here, knees as far apart as they’ll go.”

Gerard scrambled down on the bed until he was stretched out like a cat in heat, and Ray took great care tying his legs apart with the rope-ends he’d left out from under the mattress, looping them just below the kneecap. “Okay, move around some.” Gerard wriggled, twisting his feet inward, getting his arms and shoulders on first one side, then another of the bed, but largely getting nowhere. “Good.” Gee stopped, and Ray checked to make sure the ropes hadn’t tightened in the process. They hadn’t; he was getting good at this. _The things you learn in this band._ “Stay.”

Ray got off the bed and rummaged in his bag, pulled out a ziploc, and yanked off his clothes. He took a moment, then, to admire his captive vocalist. Pale skin, white rope, black blindfold, red hair, tanned forearms on white sheets. He opened the plastic bag, set it down by Gerard’s leg, got up on the bed behind Gerard, ran his fingers over all that skin, soothing. He fished the lube out of the bag and popped the bottle open, squirting some into his palm. Ray dropped the bottle on the bed and reached in the bag again, this time pulling out a short silicone toy, a curved plug with obscene little bulges. He rubbed it into his palm until it was shiny all over, and held it ready while his other hand went between Gerard’s legs, slicking lube over his cock with the briefest of touches, over his balls, up to his taint, over his ass. He paused to smear the lube over his fingers, then anchored them, wet and warm, behind Gerard’s balls while he rubbed his thumb over his asshole. He teased Gerard, pressing and letting up, tracing circles around the delicate skin, letting his thumbnail scrape lightly up and down.

Gerard just took it, making little gasps, finally shaking just a little, and Ray chose that moment to spread him open and slide the toy home.

The noise Gerard made was gratifyingly loud. Ray reached forward and gripped the base of Gerard’s cock tightly, a hard squeeze to remind him it wasn’t time yet, and Gerard’s cry got choked off, almost as if it was his throat Ray had his hand wrapped around. Ray let up slowly, and listened to Gerard get his breath back.

“Fuck, Ray, I...” Gee sounded raw with want, and the sound made Ray ache in all the best ways.

“You’re gonna wait,” Ray coaxed, and he liked how certain he made it sound, how softly calm he could be, talking to Gerard like this.

“I’m... I’m gonna wait,” Gerard repeated, like he was using Ray’s words to try to find the same certainty he could hear.

Ray reached up and scored the skin of Gerard’s back lightly with his nails, relishing the soft moan he got in return. He let go of Gerard’s cock with his other hand, just sliding his palm up and down.

It wasn’t much friction, and Gerard tensed up all over, trying to stay still, which meant he clenched around the plug, and the curve of it pressed against his prostate. He let out a ragged gasp.

“You’re gonna wait as long...” Ray punctuated his words with a slow, firm stroke. “...as I want you to.”

“As long as you want,” Gerard whispered, a soft, desperate invocation.

“And then?” Ray situated himself, pressing his knees together between Gerard’s legs, wrapping his arms around Gerard’s torso and pulling up and back, tugging Gerard into his lap. He went easily, groaning a little at Ray’s cock, hard and hot, pressed between them. “Then I’m gonna fuck you like this, pick you up with your legs tied apart and make you scream.” He let go then, tipped Gerard back down and let him get his balance on all fours again.

Gerard made a high, wavery noise that sounded a lot like “shitfuck.”

Ray watched him breathe, deep shuddering breaths that made his shoulders rise and fall. He reached down to check the ropes around Gerard’s knees, made sure they hadn’t pulled too much when Ray moved him.

“Good.” Ray smoothed his hands up Gerard’s legs, up his back, down to his thighs again. He slid off the end of the bed, walking up to the head of it, and crawled up on the pillows, settling down in front of Gerard. “But before I do that...” he trailed off and ran fingers down Gerard’s neck, down his right shoulder, his arm, and finally his wrist. Ray pulled Gerard’s hand down to his own cock, covered Gerard’s fingers with his and stroked with him a few times before pulling away. “...you’re going to do this for me.”

Gerard twitched and made a desperate sound, his fingers loose but moving at the pace Ray set, his hair falling over the blindfold as he jerked himself off, propped up on one arm.

“And you’re not going to stop, are you?” The strand of hair moved back and forth as Gerard shook his head. “Not going to come, not going to stop.”

“Not gonna come, not gonna stop,” Gerard breathed.

“Good. So, so good,” Ray praised, and moved a little. “Now...” He trailed off, getting a fistful of Gerard’s hair and his hand on his own cock, pushing Gee’s head down. He didn’t need to explain. Gerard got it immediately, sinking down to suck, and it was a beautiful thing, that fold of cloth, that strand of hair, lowering so Ray could see his ass high in the air, legs spread and held apart, and then the feeling of his mouth, wet and tight and perfect. Gerard’s tongue rolled and swirled, his cheeks hollowing from the suction, and everything was punctuated by little gasps and moans as Gerard stroked himself through it. Finally Ray realized he was biting the inside of his cheek and trying to think about Frank breaking guitars to hold off, and tightened his fingers in Gerard’s hair, pulling up. He didn’t know if it’d been thirty seconds or fifteen minutes, but it was longer than anyone should have to bear Gerard making desperate little noises while cocksucking with single-minded determination. “Should I fuck you now?”

Gerard pulled off his cock with a gulping noise, lifting his chin. Ray looked at his shoulder, still moving, looked down at his cock, the head of it bobbing, peeking out between Gerard’s fingers. “Please.” It was barely a whisper, but then Gerard made a rasping, broken groan and said, louder, “Please, please, Ray, please fuck me, fuck, please.”

And that was enough to get Ray sliding off the bed, trying not to fall so he could just get behind Gerard, get closer, slide out the plug without even teasing like he usually would, but Gerard didn’t stop, murmuring, whimpering, and Ray didn’t even catch it all, just bits here and there, “...be so good... I’ll wait if you want me to, I’ll wait...just please, not enough...” and Ray couldn’t get slicked up fast enough. But it was all he had to do, Gerard was _there_ , spread out and warmed up and open and waiting, just waiting for Ray to put a steadying hand on his hip and slide in, his ass tight and pulsing and accommodating and achingly good. Gerard made this low, guttural, grateful noise, and gasped out something that sounded like “Oh, god, thank you.”

Ray pushed in all the way, and paused. “Jesus fuckin’ wept,” he breathed. “Did you stop?”

“No,” Gerard choked, and Ray saw his shoulder still moving.

“Good.” Ray leaned forward, getting his arms around Gerard’s torso again. “Gerard?”

“Yeah?” Ray had never heard him sound so strung-out.

He pulled Gerard into his lap and down hard, fucking up into the tight heat of him rough and deep. “You can come,” he gasped, feeling the pressure building low in his belly, behind his eyes, at the base of his spine. His hands dug into the flesh of Gerard’s ribcage, and he bit his shoulder, jaws closing on a mound of muscle. He tasted salt, pulled him down, spread open and desperate, pulled Gerard onto his cock again and again until Gerard _screamed_ and milked him, fluttering and clenching, and Ray slammed into him one more time, coming so hard he couldn’t even see.

Panting, he lowered Gerard down onto the bed, and he went, pliant like a rag doll. He untied the ropes, barely managing the complicated movements while the blood started to rush back to his head, tossed the lube on the floor, picked up a blanket, and lay down, pulling both Gerard and the blanket on top of him. They were going to be sticky when they woke up, and they could shower then. And order like five pizzas from room service, probably. But it didn’t matter yet. All that mattered was Gerard, beautiful and exhausted and limply sweaty. Ray reached up and tugged off the bandanna, wincing sympathetically as it pulled out a couple of strands of hair. Gerard’s eyes blinked open, small rings of hazel widening as the light hit them. Ray dropped the blindfold off the edge of the bed, gathered Gerard in his arms, and turned the both of them onto their sides, even finding a couple of pillows. After a minute or two, Gerard slipped off to the bathroom, and returned with a glass of water. His hand shook a little when he held it out to Ray, who took a few sips and handed it back. Gerard finished it, set the glass on the nightstand, and Ray hauled him back into bed.

They didn’t have to say anything. Gerard kissed Ray’s shoulder and Ray ran an unsteady hand through his hair, and they passed out in seconds flat.

*******

****

Sometimes, Christmas Really Does Come Early

Look, Frank was usually happy with whatever came his way, especially where betting pool winnings were concerned. Really fucking happy. Seriously. And he was ecstatic that he and Brendon were finally going to get some time together. They’d had a few missed connections, scorching-hot moments in hallways and parties that never managed to lead anywhere but one of them gasping in the other’s ear that he really needed to get the other alone sometime. Frank was actually pretty proud of his patience on this one. It had been almost three years since the first time he’d kissed Brendon (he’d said that rhythm guitarists did it better and Ryan had told him to prove it) and it had been a month since the last time they’d seen each other. One too-quick makeout session at Reading did not quality time make.

So when Frank had won a bet and Jamia had told him who he’d been betting against, Frank had, well, okay, he’d done a victory dance first. And then stringently reminded himself that it was Brendon fucking Urie and for all Frank knew, it’d be another three years before he could fucking collect. It didn’t stop him from texting Brendon, _i win mothafucka, what u gonna give me?_

 _What u want, baby?_ Frank had needed a second to breathe after reading that.

_a fucking night. my bet tho so ur wearin a dress._

It had been seven agonizing minutes before he got a text back. _red or black?_

But nothing had actually prepared him for the sight of Brendon Urie in a little black off-the-shoulder number with fishnet stockings and motherfucking _heels_ on sitting on the bed of Frank’s hotel room, legs delicately crossed. Nothing. He’d couldn’t believe that he’d managed to win this without cheating. He couldn’t believe Brendon had come through. He couldn’t believe their schedules had actually matched up for a night. He couldn’t believe how fucking good Brendon’s lipstick looked.

And he might have been staring. Open-mouthed. Still in the hallway. Holding the hotel room door. And his bag.

Brendon fucking smirked at him. Fucker. Hot. Goddamn smoking hot motherfucker. Frank stepped into the room and shut the door after putting the ‘Do Not Disturb’ on the handle and dropping his bag in an out of the way place.

“Holy shit, you clean up nice,” Frank managed, and yeah. Not his best line. He knew that. But he had to start somewhere.

“Yeah, shaving my legs wasn’t such a big deal after the manscaping I did for that banana hammock thing,” Brendon said dismissively, kinda missing the point.

And Frank’s brain kind of derailed a little there for a second, because banana hammock. He’d seen the internet too, thankyouverymuch. Jamia had kindly linked him, as well as Lyn Z, Christa, Alicia, and Sarah because apparently he wasn’t covert at all about his crush on Brendon Urie. _Girls._ They were filthy and amazing. All of them. But right, more pressing matters. Pressing against his jeans, at least.

“How did you get your hair to do that?” Frank asked, reaching to touch. It was kind of impressive. Usually Brendon’s hair was all over the place, either sticking up or back or... You know. Why was he even concerned about _hair_?

Brendon’s smile turned self conscious for a second and he straightened his shoulders, then snapped back into snarky focus. “It’s called hair product. You should try it sometime.”

“Shuddup. My hair is awesome,” Frank crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look offended and failing.

“Your ‘awesome hair’ makes you look like you’re in high school,” Brendon lifted an eyebrow.

“Like you got any room to talk,” Frank countered.

Brendon chuckled, laughter shaking his shoulders, dress pulling tight across his chest.. “God, we’re twelve, aren’t we?”

“I’ve been told I’m at least seven and a half,” Frank said, finally reaching for Brendon. “Twelve seems like it might be too mature.” Brendon took his hand, and Frank tugged him up off the bed so he could get a good look.

“Mature, huh?” Brendon lifted an eyebrow, putting his hands on his hips and looking at Frank. “Is this the part where you say you’ll show me mature anyway?”

Frank was busy checking out Brendon’s legs. “No,” Frank licked his lips. “This is the part where I do really filthy things to you.”

“Like?” Brendon asked, smirking, head tilted and eyes hooded as Frank slid a hand down the black sheath of the dress, leaning in for a quick kiss. Shit, it’d been too long.

“Like eat you out, suck your cock, and fuck you till you scream,” Frank said cheerily, sliding his hand back up and licking Brendon’s chest where it showed.

Brendon squeaked. Frank just looked back up and grinned wickedly. “I wonder how much of that I can do with you still wearing that outfit...”

“Depends on how much outfit,” Brendon offered, cheeks flushed and eyes darkening.

“Depends, huh.” Frank stepped closer, his fingers trailing along the tops of Brendon’s stockings and ghosting further up. “What have you even fucking got on under this thing? Jesusfuck, Brendon.” He said it with admiration, his head shaking. He thumbed the inside of the dress. “You commando under this silk lining? Or is there something else?”

Frank’s hands were halfway up Brendon’s thighs now. He wasn’t in a rush. Fuck, was he ever not in a rush. This was his present, damnit, and he was gonna open it as slowly as he fucking wanted. Brendon’s thighs trembled faintly.

Brendon audibly swallowed and said, “Something else.”

“No garter belt,” Frank observed, fingers dangerously close to where thigh meets hip. At last his fingers brushed lace and sucked in a breath. “Shit, Brendon.”

Brendon smiled.

“Is that...?” Frank asked, exploring the fabric with his hands, what there was of it. His fingers brushed lower. Lace barely contained Brendon’s half-hard cock and Frank knew that’d be something to see. Oh fuck, how he wanted to look, and he would. His hand pressed down just enough to cause Brendon to moan and push against Frank’s hand and Frank smirked and let his hands cup Brendon’s bare ass. “Holy shit, you’re wearing a thong.”

“Well... Yeah?” Brendon licked his lips.

“Down on the bed so I can see you,” Frank guided Brendon backwards, encouraging him to sit and scoot.

Brendon crossed his legs and leaned back, propping himself on his arms, the hem of his dress sliding teasingly up, heeled foot swaying to and fro. He looked like a fucking pinup.

“Tease,” Frank scoffed at Brendon’s crossed legs.

“I’m trying to be a lady,” Brendon chided, allowing Frank to uncross his legs, heels resting on the floor.

“Trying to _kill_ me’s more like it,” Frank muttered, pulling the hem of the fabric up to bunch around the tops of Brendon’s hips. Frank sucked in a breath, because goddamn. What he saw was even better than he’d imagined. Black lace, and Brendon’s hard cock straining obscenely against it, wide filigreed straps of the thong clinging to his hips, dark sheen on the fabric where the tip of his cock was leaking precome. “Fuck.”

Brendon smirked and started to say something catty, but Frank bent down and licked the lace right at the tip of Brendon’s cock. “Frank,” Brendon gasped instead, surprised.

Frank smiled a little and closed his mouth around the tip, sucking at the fabric and working at the lace pattern with his tongue.

“Oh fuck,” Brendon moaned, thigh muscles clenching underneath Frank’s hand. “Jesus Christ.”

Frank kept his mouth on the soft, stretchy lace, trying to take Brendon a little deeper through the fabric and doing his level best to drive him insane. He breathed warm over Brendon’s balls, licked all the way up, tried to open his mouth wide enough to cover as much of Brendon’s dick as he could with wet heat and pressure. Judging by the moans and the way one of Brendon’s hands was frantically trying to find purchase in Frank’s hair, he wasn’t doing a half-bad job.

“Shit, Frank, I could get off like this,” Brendon panted, finding words, and he sounded so fucking hot, but Frank stopped what he was doing. Brendon whined.

Frank kissed the inside of Brendon’s thigh and said, a little breathless, “No.”

“I _wanted_ that,” Brendon pouted.

“Well, yeah,” Frank grinned devilishly. “Been three fuckin’ years, y’better want it.” He kept his tone light, but he knew Brendon could hear the desire in his voice, see it in his face.

“You’re evil,” Brendon fell back with a bounce on the bed, throwing an arm over his face. “Your wife has taught you to be an evil tease.” He thunked his head on the bedframe.

“She’s fantastic, isn’t she?” Frank smiled, a private smile. “But you haven’t seen tease, yet.”

Brendon looked at Frank, eyes hooded, and swallowed. “Oh yeah?” he asked, voice suddenly a little rougher.

“Turn over,” Frank said.

“You weren’t kidding.” Brendon gaped for a second.

“Over,” Frank ordered patiently.

Brendon scrambled for purchase against the sheet, sprawled gracelessly, nearly kicked Frank in the balls with a stiletto and scrambled up onto his knees. Once Brendon was settled, he promptly waggled his ass at Frank. “How’s that?”

Frank could hear his smug grin. Brendon had every right to be smug. The way his ass looked, perky and round and almost completely bare, trimmed with scalloped scraps of black lace, peeking out from under the hem of his dress, was just. Yeah. Brendon _should_ be smug. But Frank was gonna wipe the grin off his face anyway.

“It’ll do,” Frank kept his voice surprisingly level, sliding his palm up Brendon’s ass to rest on his hip. He was trying to decide if he wanted to lick over the thin strip of material, move it aside, pull it down, or try to get the flimsy garment off altogether. It was probably considered rude to rip off a dude’s panties on the first date. If that’s what this was. _Jesus_. Decisions. Fuck it. He’d have a helluva time getting them all the way off without possible bodily harm. He’d reconsider for proper cocksucking. But first.

He slid his finger under the strap of fabric, prying it away from Brendon’s skin just a little, holding it in the crook of his hand, and skimmed down, slowly. His knuckle grazed the skin the inch of fabric had covered, the base of Brendon’s spine, his crack, between his cheeks, his asshole, all the way down to his balls where the material began to widen again. Frank shifted a little, got his face down so he could see and taste, and got a better hold on the fabric, pulling. He followed the top of the thong with his tongue, skimming the skin like his fingers had just done until Brendon’s panties were low around his thighs and Frank had a mouthful of taint and Brendon was gasping, “Oh, shit.”

Frank looked up, admiring the view again, and framed Brendon’s ass with his fingers, enjoying the vulnerable little breathy noises he got when he spread his hands apart to see. Brendon’s asshole was tiny, puckered tight, pink-pale skin Frank wanted to taste. He only made Brendon wait for a few seconds before he licked down again, and this time, he did not stop, and did not stop, and would not stop. He teased, flicking licks all over until Brendon whimpered. Frank firmed up his grip, bit lightly at the skin beside his thumb, dug in his teeth a little, because he had _waited_ , damnit, and he was going to do this right. Or as right as he fucking knew how, which involved blowing Brendon’s mind again and again so he’d come back for more. Brendon stilled, and Frank got back to it, tasting, relishing the choked-off noise Brendon made when Frank pressed the flat of his tongue fully against his asshole, rolling his tongue across the tight muscle slow and wet until Brendon finally relaxed a little. Frank moved his thumbs, letting them almost dip in, spreading Brendon apart for his mouth so he could finally fuck Brendon open with his tongue, loosen him hot and wet, working deeper as his moaning got louder. Gorgeous little fucker squirmed, trying to pull away and trying to push back all at once.

“Fuck, so,” Brendon gasped, moaned, “close, are you trying to kill me, Frank, I can’t...”

Frank pulled away and kissed an ass cheek. “How’s that for a tease?”

“You goddamn asshole,” Brendon groaned. “How the fuck are you so good at that?”

“At what? At this?” Frank asked, licking again, and was gratified when Brendon actually _squealed_ in surprise, slowly darkening to a moan when Frank kept going for another minute. When he thought he’d gotten Brendon back to the edge again, he pulled back, trying to remember the thread of the conversation.

“Trade secrets,” Frank tsked, trying for smooth and only chuckling a little. “Now, do you want me to suck you off?”

Brendon moaned.

“Or do you want me to go ahead and fuck you till you come?” Frank asked.

“How are you even real? I’ve never been so glad to lose a bet in my life, fuck,” Brendon said into his arm.

“How are _you_ still talking coherently? I am very fucking thorough,” Frank scolded, but was grinning ear to ear.

“Spencer usually bitches about that too,” Brendon observed. “Get up here and kiss me already.”

Frank kicked off his own sneakers and lost his sweater. He crawled up the bed as Brendon stretched out on his side, thong still trapped mid-thigh. Frank leaned over, his hand cupping Brendon’s cheek, and kissed him deeply, opening his mouth. Brendon’s tongue slipped inside Frank’s mouth and he tipped his head so Brendon could taste what he tasted.

They pulled back, both gasping. Brendon looked obscene with his red lipstick smeared and lips swollen and wet, and Frank almost couldn’t believe him for a second. Shit. He really loved his life.

He smiled at Brendon.

“What?” Brendon giggled, then chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Just you,” Frank answered and kissed him again, sucking on Brendon’s bottom lip, causing him to make some fascinating noises.

Frank pulled away and shifted up onto his knees and grinned devilishly down at Brendon.

“Step two?” Brendon asked, chewing on his lip again, which made Frank want to chew on Brendon’s lip, too. It briefly crossed Frank’s mind that he might have an oral fixation, but he had more important things to focus on. He was in the middle of unwrapping his present.

Frank shifted so that he could take the tip of Brendon’s leaking cock in his mouth, tasting salty sweat and something very Brendon.

“I like step two,” Brendon gasped, flailing until he got his fists dug into a pillow.

Frank hummed, causing Brendon to buck a little. Taking the base of Brendon’s cock in one hand, Frank hollowed out his cheeks and sucked, tongue teasing the slit and the underside, enjoying the heady taste of Brendon on his tongue.

“Frank, oh _fuck_ ,” Brendon babbled. “Shit, you’re good at that, too.”

Frank hummed again and swallowed down to the base causing Brendon to buck and moan and gasp.

“Close, Frankie, Frankie,” Brendon panted. “ _Frank._ ”

Frank responded by swallowing him down again and Brendon came with a broken-off cry. Frank swallowed and pulled off with an audible pop.

“Jesuschrist,” Brendon managed, breathing heavily.

Frank grinned and rested his head on Brendon’s thigh. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m pretty good at that too.”

“No kidding,” Brendon smiled, propping himself up on his elbows. “So, I imagine you’re gonna want to go on to step three, unless you’ll let me taste some of your tattoos?”

“There will be time for tattoo tasting later,” Frank answered. “I’ve never tasted piano keys before.”

Brendon smirked, and kept smiling as Frank rolled off the bed and started digging around his bag for lube and a condom.

“Ya know, while you’re looking, you could lose some clothes,” Brendon offered, dark eyes watching Frank. “Like maybe starting with one of your shirts?”

“I’ve already taken off the sweater,” Frank smirked.

“And you’ve still got two layers,” Brendon frowned, like the thought of so many layers offended him. Maybe they did. The kid did end up in his underwear at Summerfest. Yes, Frank had seen the videos on the internet for that one too, thanks.

“Oh, these shirts,” Frank teased, dropping the lube and condom on the bed. Frank toyed with the hems of his shirts.

“Yes. _Those_ shirts. Please take them off,” Brendon made grabby hands. “And get this thong off while you’re at it.” He shimmied a little to emphasize his point.

Frank shook his head at Brendon, giggling, and pulled off his shirts.

“Oh,” Brendon sucked in a breath.

“What?” Frank smirked and cocked a hip like a smartass.

Brendon audibly swallowed. “You look just as good as I thought you would. And you’ve got more tattoos than I found on the internet. Not that I did any creepy stalking.”

Frank giggled, “Dude, I thought it was just me. And I bet you want me even more naked.”

“Oh, yes please.“ Brendon was smirking, eyes dark.

Frank unzipped his pants and slid them down, along with his underwear and stepped out of them.

“Oh, I want that,” Brendon whispered. “Dress on or off?”

“Not off yet,” Frank said, stalking back over to the bed and hooking his thumbs under the lace trapped on Brendon’s thighs. “We’ll need a shower after this.”

“I’ve heard that there’s a soap you prefer,” Brendon smirked as Frank slid the thong down his legs.

“It is a very awesome shower gel,” Frank said conversationally, tossing the thong somewhere behind him, halfway hoping it got lost and he’d have trophy panties tomorrow. He uncapped the lube, warming it on his fingers, and crawled between Brendon’s legs, admiring Brendon’s half-hard cock. “Now, to shut you up.”

“I’ve been waiting,” Brendon challenged.

Frank smirked and eased a finger in, causing Brendon to make a pleased noise. Frank tucked in a second, an easy slide from the way he’d opened up Brendon with his tongue, and Brendon gasped, his cock leaking now.

“Like that,” Brendon moaned. “More. C’mon, Frank. Been waiting. Christ.”

“Been waiting like I’ve been waiting?” Frank asked, tucking in a third finger, stretching Brendon slow. “Shit. Since that night at the party when Ross dared me?”

“Fuck yes,” Brendon moaned. “Since I saw you across the room.”

“Me too,” Frank bent down to kiss him and tucked in a fourth, fingers shallow but wide, making Brendon buck.

“Ready, shit,” Brendon gasped as Frank pushed against Brendon’s prostate. “Now, c’mon. You impossible fucking tease. _Jesus._ ”

Frank reached for the condom with his free hand and tore it open with his teeth, fumbling a little. Brendon helped roll it down, and wrapped his legs around Frank’s back. Frank lined up and pushed slowly in.

“Shit,” Brendon moaned as Frank bottomed out. “Just as good as I thought it’d be. _Shit._ C’mon, Frankie. Move already.”

“Holy fuck, Brendon,” Frank gasped, marveling for a minute, forcing himself not fuck Brendon relentlessly into the mattress. He really should have received a medal for his restraint. “So hot and tight for me. Jesus Christ.”

“Move, fucking fuck me,” Brendon begged.

Frank slowly slid out, shifted his hips and pushed back in, picking up a little speed but not too much. Brendon moaned.

“Do you like that?” Frank asked, keeping his strokes agonizingly slow. “Driving you crazy like this. Taking my time,” he teased.

“Frank, shit,” Brendon cursed, panting.

“I could take you apart like this,” Frank said breathlessly, hand reaching to jack Brendon in time with his thrusts, thumb teasing the slit.

“Coming apart for you,” Brendon gasped. “ _Close. Please._ ”

“C’mon, Brendon,” Frank encouraged. “Let me see you.”

Brendon locked eyes with him and came with a moan, shooting all over Frank’s hand and his stomach.

Frank quickened his thrusts, hands digging into Brendon’s hips, both of them panting. Brendon grinning at him like a loon, fond and encouraging.

“C’mon, Frank,” Brendon panted, ass clenching, and Frank was done. He came with a shout, hips stuttering, head buried against Brendon’s chest. Brendon’s hands were in his hair, scratching at his scalp.

Frank pulled out with a grunt, legs shaky, tying off the condom as he stumbled for the bathroom. Flushing the condom, he grabbed a washcloth and tossed it into the sink to wet. Frank looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. He had sex hair. Sex hair because of Brendon Urie. Christ, he was ridiculous. He’d go with it. He was happy to be ridiculous.

Washcloth in tow, he made it back to the bed with sturdier legs. Brendon’s hooded eyes followed him and he gave Frank a smile of his own, looking like a wet dream with his dress still pushed obscenely up over his hips. One stocking had rolled down past his knee and the other still clung to his thigh.

“Goddamn,” Brendon said.

“Like what you see?” Frank puffed out his chest a little and then focused on cleaning them both up a little. “And I should say the same to you.”

“Yeah, c’mere,” Brendon made grabby hands.

Frank tossed the cloth back toward the bathroom. If he were home, Jamia would give him shit for that. He smiled to himself, missing her and loving his fucking life, and then settled in beside Brendon.

“You’re still here,” Brendon said, face serious all at once.

“Well yeah,” Frank answered, reaching out to smooth back Brendon’s hair. “Where would I go? I still haven’t gotten you out of your dress.”

Brendon kissed him. “And after that?”

“I figure -- or at least I hope -- that we’ll get some sort of sleep, then some morning sex if there’s time before we gotta do press,” Frank said seriously. “I figure that way, maybe we’ll be able to last until we see each other again.”

“Again?” Brendon asked, something hopeful tucked into the corners of his eyes.

“If you wanna,” Frank shrugged, feeling a little hopeful too. “I’d kind of like to keep you.” He’d already talked to Jamia about it. She was open to it. They hadn’t added anyone to their circle in a while. Sarah seemed into it, and Jamia got along with the girl like gangbusters. “It doesn’t have to be... we spent three years getting this far, you know? Can be whatever you want,” Frank tried to clarify, failing miserably, and maybe babbling a little.

“I’d like that too,” Brendon smiled over Frank’s handwaving, genuine and breath-taking. Christ. How did Frank get so far gone for this kid?

“Good,” Frank beamed. “Now. Let’s get you out of that dress. I have some soap you might want to torture Spencer Smith with. You should try it out first.”

“Sweet,” Brendon grinned back.

******

 

****

He’ll Keep on Playing Until You Stop Chasing

When Ray and Gerard finally made it down for breakfast the next morning in one of the hotel conference rooms, Frank and Brendon were just eating the last of the chocolate croissants. And giggling about nothing, as far as Ray could tell. Ah, young love.

“Were there croissants?” Gerard asked, face pouty over his coffee.

“Pain au chocolat,” Brendon explained, gesturing at the powdered sugar on Frank’s nose.

Frank obligingly passed one of his to Gerard, who perked up a little and went back to being snuggly and relaxed as he crawled onto the oversized couch to join the two giggly fuckers, tucking into Frank’s side and getting crumbs everywhere.

Dewees was gesturing about something, his coffee dangerously close to spilling on one of the techs as Jarrod watched it with concern while nodding. Ray met James’s eyes and raised an eyebrow. Dewees smirked at him.

Before Ray could make his way over to the keyboardist, Pete fucking Wentz waltzed into the room, with his arm around Mikey’s shoulders.

“Wentzy!” Frank and Brendon exclaimed from across the room and promptly cracked up.

“Ah, my two favorite giggling fucks!” Pete declared, steering Mikey toward the couch while Mikey made grabby hands at the coffee pot.

“But,” Mikey protested, still reaching as Pete gently shoved him onto the couch and half onto Brendon.

“Here, snuggle with Urie and I will get your precious coffee, princess,” Pete chided, looking impossibly fond.

Mikey started to speak and Pete cut him off, “Two sugars, I know,” and saluted, making his way over to the pot. Mikey let out a contented sigh and tried to get comfortable without elbowing Brendon but managed to anyway. Urie didn’t seem bothered, he just kept on giggling.

Ray caught Dewees’s gaze again and gave a little nod to the door. James fucking smirked. All at once, Pete was standing right in Ray’s space as they watched Dewees walk out the door.

“You should totally hit that,” Pete said sagely to Ray.

“Yeah,” Ray agreed. “I’m trying.”

Pete looked at Ray’s slightly impatient, somewhat flustered face and his eyebrows shot up in comprehension. “Oh. Right.” Pete beamed at him and shoulder-checked Ray in the direction of the door, and the tips of Ray’s ears felt hot.

“Fucking subtle, Pete,” Mikey said, which even caused Gerard to start in on the giggling.

“Bus call is in 10 minutes,” their tour manager announced, as Ray finally managed to slip out of the room.

He headed toward the bus. He was counting on Dewees to head that way too. Ray had barely made it out the side exit when a hand grabbed his bicep. He turned to face the person, and was pleased to find Dewees.

“Hey,” he said, breathless all of a sudden.

“Hi,” Dewees smiled, chewing on his lip a little. “So I heard Pete’s very tasteful statement.”

“Um, yeah?” Ray asked, stepping into James’s space.

“It’s a pretty sure thing,” James said, smile turning coy, something heated tucked into the corners of his eyes.

“Well, I was fairly confident it was a sure thing at this point, but my backup was another jam session,” Ray admitted.

“I’m open to all types of sessions,” Dewees closed the space between them, their bodies flush sharing each other’s warmth.

“Good,” Ray affirmed, tilting his head down, lips brushing against Dewees. Dewees pressed in kissing Ray tilting his head and opening his mouth. Ray matched his movement and opened his own, licking into Dewees’s mouth with his tongue, tasting coffee and something sugary sweet.

Dewees made a pleased noise into Ray’s mouth and Ray let out a groan as Dewees ground his hard-on into Ray’s thigh.

“Dewees,” Ray gasped. pulling away. His pants were too tight. He was flushed and turned on and they did not have time for this. He had vowed not to do anything in lounge studio again. Really, that time with Frank had been a one time deal. And besides, he didn’t really want any first-time stuff to take place in anything less than a hotel room, with a real bed, where they had time, and thick walls for privacy.

“Yeah.” Dewees nuzzled at Ray’s cheek. “We will pick up where this leaves off.”

“Oh fuck yes,” Ray agreed, just as their cell phones chimed to announce bus call.

Dewees gave him a final kiss, then threw his arm over his shoulder and they walked back to the bus, much to Frank’s obvious delight (and a good-natured eyeroll from Mikey). The look on Gerard’s face was just slightly closed off, but his crooked smile was there when he nodded at Ray, so Ray figured they were still cool.

Because the universe clearly hated Ray, he had to settle for stolen kisses in between soundchecks and interviews that never got anywhere near where either of them wanted to go. And, fuck, they had been so close to handjobs in the green room, but both of them had forgotten to lock the door and Mikeyway had barged in, seen Ray with his hand down James’s pants, causing his eyebrows to go up comically high, and then mumbled, “You two are not who I thought you were. At all. Sorry,” and vanished with ninja quickness and a pink tint to his cheeks. Even though they could have carried on, they couldn’t stop laughing. Because, seriously, it was the kind of honest mistake that could only happen in this band. And Ray just might have been a little proud to have thrown Mikey off.

So, both of them stuck with making out like teenagers at every given opportunity, and it was good. It was hot. And it was frustrating, because Ray was beginning to wonder if he could wait to get Dewees in a room. He was starting to think that bending James over his keyboard in front of God and everybody was an option. He’d been careful not to say as much to Frank, and yet Ray was sure Frank would have congratulated him for some kind of personal growth.

But finally, they just had to play a couple of shows in the Texas heat and they got a hotel night. Not that Ray was nervous about it or anything. It was a sure thing. It would be fantastic. It would be hot and not the least bit terrifying, because it was Dewees. Dewees, who couldn’t stop smiling at him like he felt the same way. Like he couldn’t wait either. Like he couldn’t stop looking like a cat who got the canary and drank the dish of milk too.

The tour plowed on into the peak of summer with sticky humidity at every stop and exhaustion at every bend in the road. But at last, they had finally made it to a hotel night, and Ray hadn’t even embarrassed himself by this point. Even though he was really fucking nervous about the whole thing. He was still nervous in the lobby, but Gerard showed up, snapping him out of it.

Gerard handed him a key card, and Ray blinked. He looked at the key card and back to Gerard.

Gerard smiled a self-conscious little smile and said, “See you two tomorrow.”

“Yep,” Mikey chirped dragging his brother off, to probably find Frank. A Frank wandering around on his own was a dangerous creature that should be captured as soon as possible, otherwise it could lead to streaking or stolen underwear. It was noble of the Ways to be taking care of that.

Maybe things would be fine after all. Gerard seemed to have no problem with this. Ray just needed to get out of his own way.

****

A Book Being Read By Its Favorite Ends

Finally (at least Frank was pretty sure), Ray and Dewees were actually getting somewhere. There’d been actual talking, with words, and sometimes not-talking that involved kissing the fuck out of each other in the most random of places. And now they were sharing a room together, far down the hall, or at least Frank was pretty sure that was happening. The signs pointed to yes. Frank was hoping that he would get the gossip from James tomorrow. But tonight, well--tonight, Frank was hoping for something much more involved, and possibly kinky. No, definitely kinky.

Frank would even be subtle about the whole thing, he decided, while walking with Gerard and Mikey down the hall.

“I have a feeling that I don’t want to share a room with either Ray or Dewees tonight, but that they should share together,” Frank said, lightly vague, in a hopeful tone of voice. “I suppose I could always go see what Jarrod’s doing. He mentioned video games and headphones earlier.”

“Frankie,” Gerard tsked. He looked sort of offended, actually, and it wasn’t until Frank saw the look on Mikey’s face that he started to get a clue. Frank wasn’t the only one hoping for something more involved.

Mikey leaned forward, a smile in his eyes. “What makes you think we’d let you be bored tonight?” he asked, voice low in Frank’s ear.

“I love when you do that freaky mind-meld thing!” Frank beamed, letting Gerard and Mikey corral him toward their room, further down the hall. Frank had missed having the two of them together. He missed seeing both of them. Naked.

Frank wasn’t sure if he needed to keep Gerard distracted tonight. Frank’s face must have shown his concern, though, because Gerard said, “Stop that.”

“Stop what.” Frank grinned sheepishly, not even bothering to make it sound like a question.

“Who do you think gave Ray a key to Dewees’s room?” Gerard smiled sweetly, mischief at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh!” Frank beamed, then let his expression darken to something more promising, “Now, what do you have in mind to keep the boredom at bay?”

“You are ridiculous,” Mikey smirked, opening the door. “Isn’t he, Gee?”

“Completely,” Gerard agreed, sliding the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign over the handle and locking the door. “And he’s talking far too much, isn’t he, Mikes?”

“I was just about to say,” Mikey agreed, reaching for Frank’s shirt. Frank lifted his arms helpfully and started to reach for his pants, but Gerard batted Frank’s hands away and started slowly working his belt open and his fly down.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Gerard breathed, taking a good look as he got Frank’s pants and shoes off, but all he got in response was a muffled moan. He looked up to see Frank and Mikey making out, all hands and lips and tongues. He just watched for a moment, then echoed himself. “Fucking gorgeous.”

Frank’s hands scrabbled at the hem of Mikey’s shirt, and Gerard smoothly stepped behind his brother and pulled up, grinning as Mikey broke away from Frank for only the second it took for his shirt to come off. Gerard shook his head fondly, then reached for Mikey’s fly while Mikey made it a little more difficult, squirming as he toed off his shoes. Gerard squeezed Mikey’s dick in retaliation, and Mikey snickered through the kiss, angling his hips forward so the back of Gerard’s hand grazed Frank’s hardon through his briefs.

Frank made a pleased little noise, and Gee chuckled while Frank helped him get Mikey’s pants and boxers off. Right at the point where Gerard would ordinarily have said _”My turn,”_ Mikey turned to him and pulled off his shirt, kissing him like Mikey needed Gerard’s mouth to stay alive, and Frank went to work on Gerard’s jeans. They were getting really good at this. Frank knelt, pulling off the stubborn denim, and looked up, tossing the clothes over his shoulder. Gerard and Mikey were fucking pretty, clutched together. Mikey had one hand in Gerard’s hair and the other on his bare ass; Gerard had his arm around Mikey’s waist and his hand on Mikey’s throat. Frank admired them for a few moments longer before remembering he was the kind of lucky bastard who could just horn in on this shit, and stood up behind Gee, reaching around him to grab at Mikey.

Mikey huffed a laugh into the kiss, then broke off with a lick to the outside of Gerard’s mouth, peeking over his shoulder to steal another kiss from Frank. Gerard made a soft sound, then a gasp. Frank felt Mikey smile before pulling away, and gave him a look. Mikey’s expression turned to a smirk, his hand no longer in view, and Frank felt Gerard slump a little between them.

“Mikey...” Frank wondered out loud, trailing his mouth over Gerard’s shoulder, giving little nips and bites while he let his hands wander over skin, and skin, and skin.

“Mmm?” Mikey’s lips buzzed around a mouthful of Gerard’s neck, and Gerard’s panting began to escalate into pitchy gasps.

“Think we can make him come like this?” Frank bit Gerard’s ear, squeezing his hands over Mikey’s waist and Gerard’s hip bone.

“I’m right h-here.” Gerard tried to sound bitchy, but it got spoiled by the way his words caught in his throat.

“Bet we can get him off four times,” Mikey said smugly, giving no sign of having heard.

“Five if we let him sleep in the middle.” Frank murmured softly into Gerard’s ear, but it was loud enough for Mikey to hear.

“I might _die_ ,” Gerard pointed out.

“You are pretty old,” Frank said thoughtfully, no longer nibbling. He slid his fingers into his mouth instead.

“The hotel has those resuscitation boxes in all the hallways, it’ll be fine,” Mikey said without concern. Gerard didn’t get a chance to reply, because Mikey firmed up his grip and Frank slid two spit-slick fingers down to Gerard’s ass, teasing and then pushing in.

“Come on,” Frank purred, settling his weight so that Gerard wouldn’t fall over. “Come for us so we can fuck you.” His fingers twisted a little, questing, until Gerard cried out.

Mikey pulled Gerard’s other arm up around his neck, stroking his cock a little faster. “Should I fuck you first, or should Frank?”

Gerard gasped, rising up on his toes, unable to formulate a response.

“We could switch off,” Frank said, rutting up against Gerard’s ass, curving his fingers. “And then...” Frank trailed off, meeting Mikey’s eyes while he asked Gee, “You ever wanted to have us both?”

Mikey’s eyes flashed, darkly promising, a flush rising to his ears as he licked his lips. Frank was so busy looking at him he almost missed Gerard’s groan, the fluttery clenching around his fingers, but then Mikey lifted a hand to his lips, licking it clean.

Frank grinned, easing his fingers out, and let Gerard collapse between them. “Hey, check it out, a bed.”

“Glrff.” Gerard winced, getting his feet under him. He laid down, dead to the world for a few minutes while Mikey brought him some water and Frank washed his hands. He sat up when Mikey handed him the glass, taking a few sips while Frank curled up behind him. He raised an eyebrow at Mikey, whose lips twitched faintly.

Mikey looked at Frank.

“We don’t have to tonight,” Frank hastily added to the silent conversation.

Gerard blushed so hard his neck got blotchy, and Mikey’s lips slowly curved into a filthy grin. He nodded.

“Well, okay. Shit,” Frank smiled quietly. “And here I didn’t think to bring a stick of butter.” Gerard smacked his shoulder. “Ow!”

“We’ve had this conversation,” Gerard declared primly.

“We have? Refresh my memory, Mikeyway, was his answer ‘I’m a fucking diva’ or ‘not on tour’?” Frank pinched Gerard’s arm.

“I’d say both,” Mikey deadpanned, setting down the glass of water and rummaging for the lube.

“So you want to?” Frank asked, trying not to sound too excited.

Gerard bit his lip and nodded, and Mikey handed Frank the lube. “Slow,” Gerard blurted, like either of them was just going to rush into double-teaming him or something.

Frank got a modest handful of lube, rolling the gel around until his fingers were shining with it. Mikey looked at him and grinned, then pushed Gerard down and kissed the hell out of him. Frank got to work slicking everybody up, finally sliding his fingers back into the tight velvety warmth of Gerard’s ass. It wasn’t long until he was three fingers deep and Mikey had his mouth on Gee’s chest, biting his nipples, thumbing at Gerard’s lower lip.

Gerard started sucking and Mikey hummed approval, adding more fingers for him to suck on. It was a nice show, the two of them, and Gerard was getting hard again. Frank kept his eyes on them and leaned down to lick a stripe up the underside of Gerard’s dick, relishing the muffled noise he got in response.

“Frankie,” Mikey said, pulling his hand away while Gerard made a disappointed noise. Frank smiled, pushing Gerard’s thighs apart and pressing up against his ass, waiting until Gerard shifted impatiently, grinding back up against him. Only then did Frank lean into him hard, guiding his cock down with the flat of his hand until Gerard cried out, a long, low sound.

“Mikey,” Frank replied, and watched as Mikey gave Gee a filthy grin, kneeling up on the bed to straddle his face. Frank waited until he was settled, then finally started to fuck Gerard in earnest. He couldn’t quite hear what Mikey was saying, but little snippets of his whispers came to Frank’s ears.

“Gee... open you up for us... get my cock wet and... fuck... come inside you--”

“Holyshit,” Frank gasped, and he knew he didn’t have to worry about making it last but this was still close to embarrassingly fast. He gripped Gerard’s thighs, pushing them back and apart even further, only peripherally aware of the details: the way his fingers dug in to muscled flesh, the beads of sweat forming on Mikey’s back, Gerard’s little muffled whimpers. But all together, it was overwhelming, building up until he tensed with it and let go, trying to steady himself as he came so he didn’t plow into Mikey. It sort of worked, but they wound up in a sticky pile anyway, Mikey trying to disengage from Frank’s arms and Gerard’s mouth, Frank halfheartedly pulling away, sleepily trying to turn Gerard over.

Gerard went easily, almost frantically, and Frank lay back, getting a good look. Gerard was up on his knees and down on his shoulders, his spine bent into an obscene curve, his mouth open, both hands already busy below his waist. Mikey knelt up behind him and slid in with a sigh, barely pausing before beginning to thrust, not holding anything back.

“Mikeymikeyplease,” Gerard gasped, his face against the mattress. Mikey reached down to get a fistful of Gee’s hair, pulling up and back, and Frank could see them, then, Mikey’s eyes squeezed shut, his jaw slack, hair in his face. Gerard’s eyes were open and his lower lip sucked into his mouth. Frank couldn’t resist reaching out to touch.

“Look so good,” he murmured to both of them, and then to Gerard, maybe a little smugly, “We’re gonna fuck you,” and Gerard took a hissing breath and groaned, slumping, coming all over his hands.

Mikey let go, sliding his hands down Gerard’s back, soothing. He hadn’t come yet; Frank could see it in the tightness of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. He could hear it in the way Mikey asked, “Lube?” and the way it gritted out through his teeth like he was fighting it.

Frank handed it to him, scooted over so he was closer to Gerard, and petted his hair. “Think you can take it?” he asked, and it came out low and gravelly. Gerard nodded, then whimpered as Mikey pulled out a little, slicked up more, and slid back in, adding a finger alongside his cock, opening Gerard up wide and slow.

“Mikey,” Gerard said quietly, and Mikey added another. Frank wasn’t entirely sure what was going on until Gerard groaned, satisfied, and looked up at Frank with glassy eyes and an open mouth. He looked... hungry.

“Shit,” was all Frank could really manage, and then squirmed closer to kiss him, covering Gee’s mouth with his own and moaning when Gerard sucked on his tongue. They made out like that for a little while, occasionally pausing so Gerard could whimper and pant, and finally Frank got under him. There was some fumbling and cursing, and lube got everywhere, but Mikey’s careful fingers lined them all up, Gee lifted and spread apart, Frank just barely inside him, and then the tight warm press of Mikey’s cock against Frank’s, squeezed together inside Gerard, so close it hurt.

Frank looked up, eyes wide, at a loss for words. Gee was gasping like a fish on dry land, one hand grasping at nothing, his pupils blown wide and black.

“Ohhh. Oh, my god,” Gerard breathed.

He was beautiful like this. Mikey wedged them in a little deeper, probably as far as they were going to get, and Gerard fell against Frank’s chest, collapsing with his arms in front of him so easily it was almost frightening, but then Frank and Mikey started moving together, little tiny thrusts that held them together so hard and fucked Gerard open so wide that the three of them made almost no sounds, just harsh breaths echoing from the walls of the hotel room. Suddenly, Mikey made a guttural, disbelieving noise, and came, and Frank could feel it, the little pulses and clenches, Gerard even more open and wet. Frank had just been thinking that maybe he could come like this too, when Mikey slipped out, and the mattress dipped.

“Mikey,” Gerard cried out, and it was a _cry_ , like choked and teary. Frank reached up, pushed the hair gently out of Gerard’s face, but it was like Gee couldn’t even see, blinded by sensation and bereft at the loss of some of it.

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay, I got you,” Mikey said hurriedly, shoving fingers alongside Frank’s cock in a way that would have been incredibly alarming a few minutes ago. He got a hand on Gee’s cock, too, and Frank moved experimentally, rocking Gerard and Mikey’s fingers down onto him. It was a weird sensation, too much of it, so tight, so alive, and Frank blamed the strangeness of it for not being able to tell which one of them came first. There was just this sound, this ripped-apart wail, and it was unbelievable, and Frank’s belly was wet, his balls were wet, everything was sticky and slippery, and his brain was empty, his limbs tingling the same way they always did when he’d just come, but what was important was the towel Mikey handed to him, the way they propped Gerard up and gave him water, the way the soft-focus dreamy look in Gerard’s eyes slowly sharpened into a grin.

Frank and Mikey walked him to the shower, taking turns rinsing off and helping him stay on his feet until they were all clean enough to stagger back to bed and fall into it.

****************

****

When You’re Finally on the Same Page

 

When James caught up with him, Ray must have still been making a face, because Dewees just chuckled at him.

“You are adorable,” James smiled. “Even your hair is adorable.”

“My hair is not adorable.” Ray was glowering.

“It is.” Dewees’s smile was something to behold. Like, he wasn’t making fun of Ray exactly, but he was sure as hell having a good time.

“It is not. It’s badass, and don’t you forget it.” Ray was fairly certain that a tiny smile was undermining his point.

“Look, I’m not saying that it isn’t badass,” Dewees assured, taking Ray’s hand and gently guiding him down the hallway. “You hair is totally badass. It is the peak of badassery. I have seen the fro in action and it is hardcore. It’s also, like, sentient.”

Ray had gone from glowering to halfway-terrified, being led down a hotel hallway by his keyboardist to a room they were sharing. Like, Sharing, with a capital S. Like an S. Like how Sex Was Going to Probably Happen. He tried not to trip over his own shoes as he thought about it. This shit would have been so much easier if he’d brought a guitar.

“Hey,” Dewees said, pausing in front of the door. “Stop freaking out. It’s all cool.”

“I’m not freaking out.” Ray fumbled with the key. “Shit.” He swiped it twice more before the little green goddamn light would come on. “Okay, not much.”

The door clicked shut behind them, and Dewees eased into Ray’s space, took his bag, and sat it on the floor along with his little suitcase. James stepped back up to Ray, close enough that their clothes brushed together. The smile on his face was quieter, calm, hopeful and open. Dewees finally leaned in, up a little on his toes and touched his lips to Ray’s. Ray breathed through his nose a little shakily, and kissed back, trying to tilt his face right. It was easy, though, kissing James. He moved slowly, almost lazily, like they had all the time in the world and all he wanted was to make out with Ray for a while. It was kind of like the way Christa kissed on Sunday mornings, or the way Mikey kissed when they woke up in the middle of the night, but sharper, and with more stubble. Ray stopped thinking about it so hard and grabbed the back of James’s head.

Dewees made a pleased noise and backed them up against the wall, hands seemingly everywhere at once, pushing up under Ray’s t-shirt and tweaking nipples, nails scratching down Ray’s back. Ray made a moan into the kiss as he tried to unbutton the million buttons on Dewees’ shirt. James made a pleased noise and started trying to help by pulling Ray’s shirt over his head.

Ray cursed, letting him, then went back to attacking James’s buttons. James ran his fingers over Ray’s shoulder, grinning.

“You know we don’t have to, right?”

Ray looked at him and stopped, a frown drawing down his brow. “James.” He bunched the button-down into his fist, drawing James close until their heads bumped together. “I wanna screw you six ways to Sunday. I’m just... _bad_ at it, okay?”

James pulled back laughing, his eyes creased up in a huge smile. “I’m, ah, pretty sure that’s not true, or I’d hear something other than satisfied groans in the back studio.” Enough buttons undone, he pulled his shirt over his head.

“I only did that once!” Ray protested. “And anyway you know what I mean. Not screwing, the--” he waved his arms vaguely, “getting there.”

“You seem to be doin’ all right so far.” Dewees smiled reassuringly, stealing another kiss while his hands started to work at the zipper of Ray’s jeans.

Ray moved James’ hands out of the way, smiling into the kiss, feeling bold. He could do this. He was _good_ at this. He knew how to get a guy naked. Seriously. So he unbuttoned Dewees’s pants, and unzipped them, letting them fall onto the floor. Then Ray paused, because James had gone commando.

“You’re not, um,” Ray observed, licking his lips. Dewees was hard, cock curving up toward his belly button, tip red.

“Nope,” Dewees grinned wickedly.

“Of course not,” Ray chuckled, rolling his eyes and reaching for James’s dick, his fingers closing around the shaft and giving a little squeeze. Dewees made a choked off noise.

“You’re gonna need more lube if you wanna do anything with that,” Dewees encouraged, hips rocking forward a little.

“Yeah,” Ray agreed. “But there’s time for that later. I’m gonna need you on your knees on the bed for what I want to do with you.”

“You’ve had worse ideas,” James fucking smirked, kissing Ray deeply again, and helping Ray out of his jeans and underwear, the multi-tasker. Ray kicked out of his boxers and backed Dewees up to the bed, kissing him all the while.

James smirked, turned and crawled onto the bed, making a point to spread his knees wide and look over his shoulder with a smile still on his face. Ray licked his lips. He did, so very much, like what he saw. Dewees smiled like he knew it. Fucker probably did. He was all broad shoulders and strength, olive-tinted skin shaded with hair, and a rounded ass that Ray could look at for hours.

“Gonna fucking kill me, Jesus,” Ray muttered, quickly digging lube and a condom from his overnight bag.

“Only a little death,” James winked, laughing.

“Did you get that line from Frank?” Ray asked, incredulous, feeling momentarily triumphant as he finally found supplies. “Actually, I don’t want to know just how much time you two take to come up with really bad lines to outdo each other with.”

“Not as much as you would think,” Dewees promised. “Now, back to more pressing matters.”

“You’re terrible,” Ray grinned walking back over to the bed and dropping the condom near James’ knee. “Why do I even like you?”

“‘Terrible’? I think you said that wrong-- it’s pronounced ‘delightful,’” James corrected, emphasizing his words with a roll of his hips.

“Yet so cheesy.” Ray continued, somehow only fumbling the cap on the lube in response, and not, say, forgetting his own name.

“Part of my irresistible charm,” James beamed as Ray finally got the lube open, squirting some in his palm to warm.

“This is the part where I’m supposed to say something about showing you charm, aren’t I?” Ray asked, coating his fingers and resting his other hand on James’s ass, fingers curling around his left hip.

“No,” Dewees answered. “Actually, I’m counting on this being the part where you shut me up, Toro.”

In response, Ray slid his first finger in, working past the tight ring of Dewees’s asshole, causing James to let out a groan and push back a little. “More,” Dewees encouraged. “Come on, more. Been waiting, fucker.” Ray grinned, leaning forward to stroke the skin of James’s back, kissing his shoulder blade to distract him from the burn as he tucked his middle finger in with the first, slowly working Dewees’ hole, scissoring, opening James wider as he rolled his hips and moaned.

“You should see yourself,” Ray admired. “Dewees, Christ.”

“I’ll show you something, fuck,” Dewees groaned. “Three. Gimme, three. C’mon, Ray.”

Ray kept taking his time, though, waited until his two fingers slid easily until adding the third, all while Dewees cursed and begged and moaned. It made Ray’s breath catch in his throat. He almost couldn’t believe that he was getting to have this. That _he_ was the one making Dewees babble incoherently into the bend of his elbow. It was amazing and Dewees was so hot strung out like this, reduced to moans because of his fingers.

“Ready for my cock?” Ray asked, twisting his fingers deep and pushing against the prostate. Ray had been more than ready since Dewees got onto the bed. Hell, he would have been ready since that first jam, if he’d had the wits to know what he’d really wanted. But he would wait if he had to. He’d let Dewees call this.

“Oh sweet Jesus, yes,” Dewees answered, thighs trembling. “Fucking fuck me already. Stop being such a fucking tease. Ray. _C’mon._ ”

“Yeah, okay,” Ray agreed, removing his hand and reaching for the condom. Dewees wanted to. He was ready and waiting and willing and still looked hot as hell all flushed where Ray had opened him up.

Ray only fumbled the condom packet a couple times, but finally managed to get it open with his teeth. He clumsily rolled it on and took a steadying breath. _Finally._ He smiled to himself as he palmed some more lube over his dick.

“Ray,” Dewees gasped as Ray lined up, cock pushing against his hole. “C’mon.”

Ray rolled his hips, pushing in slowly doing his best not to simply pound Dewees relentlessly down into the mattress. They’d been waiting. He wanted to make it good. Wanted to make it build slowly.

“Holy shit,” Ray moaned and his voice sounded fucked-out and a little awed even to his own ears, as he bottomed out, his balls flush with Dewees’s hole.

“Fuck,” Dewees’s head dropped down, his back bowed. “Fucking move already. _Ray._ ”

His hands gripped Dewees’s hips, fingers pressing into hipbones, Ray pulled out slowly and pushed in again, slowly building up a rhythm. Dewees shifted, encouraging Ray to shoot deeper, moaning every time Ray hit him just right. Both of them moaned and panted as Ray reached around to jerk off Dewees in time with his thrusts, his hand still slick from the lube.

Dewees lost the ability to form words and instead chose to moan increasingly loud, guttural sounds. Somehow managing to get out the words, between panting, “Close. Gonna. Ray. Fuck. Shit. Goddamn. _Fuck._ Nnnngghh.” Dewees came, shooting hot all over Ray’s hand and Ray moaned, his hips stuttering. He was on the brink, so close.

“C’mon Ray,” Dewees panted, encouraging. “Yes. C’mon.”

Ray gave three more deep thrusts and came with a grunt. His thighs burned and he collapsed, half on Dewees and half on the bed, propped on his arm, to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” Ray said intelligently.

“Yeah,” James managed, “It was good for me too.”

“You’re _delightful_ ” Ray muttered, but he couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice or off his face.

“I think the word you are looking for is ‘terrible,’” James said giggling, then hissed as Ray pulled out.

“I’ve got some words for you,” Ray threatened, but he was giggling as he rolled off to tie off the condom.

“Oh, I have no doubt you can be truly eloquent when you take the notion to be,” Dewees winked at him as he stood, reaching a hand out for Ray.

“Why do you want me to stand?” Ray asked, puzzled.

“See? And observant as hell,” Dewees grinned, pulling Ray up.

“Now you’re just making fun of me,” Ray grumped, fighting a smile.

“No, I’m just trying to get you to shower with me, so we can then sleep for a little, wake up and fuck all over again,” Dewees explained reasonably.

“I can work with that,” Ray smiled. He really could. Right now, he felt like he could work with anything the universe wanted to hand him, because he had his friends, his lovers, his band on his side, all of them smart and hot and amazing and talented. Maybe this tour was a good idea after all.


End file.
